When it Rains
by Aurilia
Summary: AU post-Bounce/Endgame - details in AN. Tony finds something left on his doorstep and calls Palmer for help. Will eventually be SLASH.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** This is AU, obviously. I've noticed a severe lack in Tony/Jimmy stories out there, and so had to write this little nugget to help fill the deficit. A little bit about the timeline – I'm going with the original airdates of the episodes as a rough guideline as to when things 'really' took place, save for episodes which are multiple parts. The opening scene takes place just after 'Bounce'. The following scene is just after 'End Game', and can be considered the point where the tale really runs AU from the series.

I don't plan to have much in the way of casefile threads; this is primarily a (insert melodramatic shudder here) _romance_. I know, I know, I'm not that great at romance, but the bunny wouldn't go away, so it was either write a romance or stab my brain with a Q-tip, and I like music too much to hurt my poor, defenseless ears in order to kill my brain for this.

* * *

**When it Rains**

_Sunday, February 22, 2009  
0334  
Tony's Apartment_

Stardust – yeah, Tony knew it wasn't her _real_ name, but didn't give a damn – arched her back, making her perky breasts stand out sharply from her chest as she rode him. Tony's hands caressed the offering, his eyes enjoying the contrast in their skin-tones, before sliding down to rest on her hips. Pale blue, three-thousand thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets puddled around the pair on the queen-sized bed, a row of candles on the white oak headboard making their sweaty bodies glisten.

She bounced harder, tossing her head back, exposing her throat. Growling, Tony seized the opportunity to reverse their positions, the force of which had the headboard knocking against the wall hard enough that his eighty-six year-old neighbor knocked back and shouted, "Keep it down in there!"

One more detail that Tony just couldn't give a damn about.

He poured his frustrations with Gibbs and the whole Domino fiasco into his current activity, included his anger with Vance over being sent off afloating, and no small measure of his own guilt at being partially responsible for getting Jenny killed to begin with – regardless of the fact that he'd learned the hard way to stay out of her personal vendettas. Even as Stardust mewed and gasped and clutched at him, he worked harder, trying to rid himself of the self-loathing he had for putting an innocent man in prison for _three__ years_, for falling for his undercover mark, for using Jeanne, for contracting the fucking_ plague_, for having had the bad taste to break his leg in college, even for having brought his current bedmate home with him from the club and… Well, for _everything_ bad or even marginally _questionable_ since a very drunk Anthony D. DiNozzo, Senior had, in grief of his own, blamed an eight year-old Junior for not knowing Alice DiNozzo was too drunk to be driving.

For her part, Stardust didn't know nor care what drove the handsome man with the piercing green eyes. All she knew was that she didn't want him to stop… _Oh,__ yeah.__ Just __like __that__… _She might just leave him her real name and her cell number, after all. _Harder__… __Harder__…_

But when she awoke hours later, blissfully content and pleasantly sore, he wasn't there. Just a note on his bedside table that read _'__I__ had__ to __go__ to __work. __Help__ yourself __to__ a__ shower.__ Make__ sure__ you __lock __the__ door __when __you__ leave.__'_

Sighing, she decided not to leave him her real information. She would have, if he'd bothered to tell the contents of the note to her in person. Even so, she made a point to memorize the address on her way home. Who knew? Maybe she'd wind up changing her mind about giving him her name and cell phone number and come back later. He really _was_ a fantastic lay.

* * *

**A/N2:** The title of this story is from the expression 'When it rains, it pours', which is another of those sayings that I'm sure give both Cote de Pablo _and_ Ziva David brain-spasms in trying to figure out. The title actually hit me when I drove past the Morton Salt processing center in Utah a few weeks ago. Odd where we get our inspiration, isn't it?

And in case you missed the update to my bio, I've not been home since July 24th. I went through a two-week class and got my CDL (Commercial Driver's License) - Class A, which means I drive the big trucks - and now am an honest-to-god _trucker_. I get paid to drive around the country, and in the last two months, the only states I've not visited yet are New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine, and Florida (excluding Alaska, because I'm not certified for driving in Canada, and Hawaii for obvious reasons). My favorite state thus far is still Texas, though Washington comes a close second. My least-favorite states are a tie between California and Oregon. Seriously, CaliOrego? 55 MPH for trucks? WTF? Anyway, this means that updates to ALL my fics will be, by necessity, far more sporadic than they've been in the past, at least until I get upgraded from 'apprentice' to full trucker with the company and receive a raise and so can afford mobile wireless.

**Edit 11/12/2012:** Fixed some lost spaces in the italicized text.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** See the note from the prologue. Oh, and I actually went to Walmart's website to come up with the total Tony spent there… Just in case y'all were, ya know, wonderin'…

* * *

**When it Rains**

_Monday, November 16, 2009  
0315  
Northernmost Corner of Anacostia Park  
Just off Benning Road, NE_

"Where the hell is DiNozzo?" Gibbs barked, his latest coffee clenched tightly in hand.

Bravely, Tim answered the only way he could, "Don't know, Boss. I called him, he said he was on his way, that he'd meet us here." White puffs of breath gave temporary physical substance to his words in the dim light from a nearby streetlamp.

"Perhaps he punched traffic, yes?" Ziva offered her theory while working on taking photos of their latest crime scene – a dead staff sergeant who was rapidly getting covered by the very first snowfall of the season, which was itself unseasonably early. Gibbs made no reply and stalked off to interrogate the patrolman who'd found the body.

Tim finished sketching the scene and tucked the sketchbook into his bag. "Hit, Ziva."

"Hit what?" She didn't look away from her work.

"It's 'hit traffic', not 'punched'," Tim corrected her mangled expression and switched over to scanning the area for whatever trace hadn't yet been covered by the rapidly-accumulating snow.

"Whatever," Ziva replied. "You understood what I meant. Perhaps there was traffic –"

"At three in the morning?"

"So maybe it was a flat tire."

"Wouldn't he have called?" Sometimes Tim really hated the side of himself that just _had_ to play Devil's advocate.

Further conversation on the possible whereabouts of Tony stilled as the coroner's van pulled up. Climbing out, Ducky called Tim over to lend him a hand with the gurney. "Where's Palmer?"

Ducky frowned, "I was unable to reach him. All I keep getting is voicemail."

Tim sighed and shook his head, "That seems to be catching."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Tony's not here yet, either, and none of us are reaching anything but voicemail when we call his cell."

Looking down at his latest patient, Ducky frowned again. "Dear me. I do hope they simply got caught up in a video game or some such. As for you, my dear boy," he switched to addressing the corpse, "let's get you out of this worsening weather and into a place a bit more hospitable, shall we?"

* * *

Normally, Tony slept really well after successfully closing a case, but tonight he was filled with a restless energy that had him pacing his apartment, Hitchcock's _Psycho_ playing on the television, unwatched, with the sound turned low. Figuring hot water might help him relax, he headed for the bathroom. Half an hour later, his skin stung pink by the shower, he was more awake than ever, but since his phone was what called him from the steamy confines of his rather hedonistic multi-headed shower stall, that was probably a _good_ thing. At two-thirty in the morning, it was either a drunk-dial or work. Tony was betting on work.

It was. Specifically, it was McGee, calling to inform him about a dead body in Anacostia Park. After telling Probie that he'd meet them there, Tony quickly dressed and attempted to dash out of his apartment.

Tried, and failed spectacularly.

There was something blocking his apartment door – at first glance, it seemed to be a basket of someone's laundry, but as his feet tangled in the trailing edge of a hunter green towel and sent the basket sliding several inches even while pulling Tony to a graceless heap on the hall floor, some part of Tony knew it wasn't as simple as a misdelivered basket of jeans from the laundry room in the basement.

And that was before the sudden movement of the basket triggered its contents to start crying.

_Shit,_ Tony quickly untangled his feet, the call from work all but forgotten. Thankfully, of the three apartments that shared the fifth floor of Tony's building, 5C was empty and 5B's tenant had gone for the week to visit his grandchildren in New Jersey. Tony scooped the basket and its contents back into his apartment and shut the door.

Setting the basket on the end of the bar that separated his kitchen area from his living room, Tony cautiously peeled back the green towel, irrationally hoping that it was just a doll or tape player – just a joke, nothing more.

The squalling noise began to mercifully die down, and Tony held his breath as he finished removing the towel from the plain white laundry basket. Nestled among the terrycloth of a bright blue beach towel, wrapped in a dishcloth that had orange-and-yellow checks decorating it, was a newborn.

_That__'__s __a__ baby,_ his brain unhelpfully supplied. "I know that, I can _see_ that." Tony was unaware that he was talking to himself – likely, he wouldn't have cared at that point. "Question is why it's on _my_ doorstep."

_You know why. You've always feared something like this would happen. That one of the flavors of the week would hunt you down and start demanding child support._

"Not quite the same thing here, is it?" Noticing a piece of paper tucked among the folds of cloth, Tony reached into the basket and slowly removed the scrap. As he unfolded it, it dawned on him that he should probably be wearing gloves, but the thought evaporated as he read the two words printed on the scrap of notebook paper.

_She's yours._

* * *

Jimmy woke to the sound of his cell phone shrilling at him. He first peeled his eyes open, then peeled his face off of the massive medical tome that had been serving as his pillow, before answering it with a yawn. "Hello?" he managed to get out, somewhat mangled, as he readjusted his glasses. The voice on the other end of the line had him fully awake in a matter of heartbeats. _I__'__ve__ never__ heard__ Tony__ this __freaked__ before__ – __he__ almost __sounds __like__ Abby__ on __a __caffeine __and__ sugar__ OD._ After taking a moment to de-code the hyperbabble, Jimmy grabbed his keys and headed for the door. He kept talking to Tony – most of his side of the conversation was simply variations on 'calm down' or 'I'll be right there' – ignoring several beeps which indicated missed calls. _Whoever __it __is __can__ wait._

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only the normal twenty minutes or so, Jimmy was letting Tony know he was just outside the apartment. Tony met him at the door, looking just as frantic as he'd sounded on the phone. With a level of competence no one else at NCIS would have believed had they been there to witness it, Jimmy quickly took charge of the situation.

Steering Tony into his massaging recliner while tucking his cell into his coat pocket, Jimmy noted the location of the basket that had Tony so freaked, all while saying, "Calm down, Tony. We'll figure this out. Besides, if don't get your breathing under control and you work yourself into a full-blown panic-attack, I'll have to call an ambulance and then Dr. Pitt would tell Dr. Mallard, and they'd _both_ be after my head on a pike."

Tony seemed to take the words to heart and made a conscious effort to calm down, going so far as to lean forward and rest his head on his knees – or, rather, as close as he could, with his shoulder-holster and suit-jacket constricting his flexibility. Seeing that Tony was about as well-off as he was going to get for the time-being, Jimmy turned his attention to the basket on the bar.

The newborn was sleeping, though from the way it kept moving its head back and forth while making sucking movements with its mouth, Jimmy was positive it wouldn't remain so for much longer. Carefully, Jimmy lifted the baby out of the basket. It had skin slightly darker than Tony's, with wispy black hair, and though he wasn't going to say as much just yet, it also had Tony's chin and brow. There was a subtle cast to its features which indicated its mother was black. _Even __with __its__ head__ still__ misshapen__ from__ birth, __I__'__m __willing __to__ bet __real __money __that __it__ – __correction, __she__ – __that __she__'__s__ gonna __be __really __pretty__ when__ she __grows __up._

Jimmy had quickly unwrapped the baby from the dishtowel, redoing the towel to serve as a temporary, makeshift diaper. As the oldest of his generation among his family by a good ten years, taking care of a baby was something he'd done far more times than he could count – his mom was the oldest of six and his dad had been the oldest of nine, and of them all, only Jimmy was an only child. Familiarity with Tony's apartment from innumerable visits for games and movies over the past few years had Jimmy quickly locating the improvised items he needed.

A latex glove, thoroughly washed and pierced with a pin, became a make-do bottle. Tony's bottle of half-and-half from the fridge had to stand for formula for now. By the time he had the creamer heated to the right temperature and offered to the newborn (who rapidly started sucking it down, rather greedily – _She__'__s __got __Tony__'__s__ appetite,__ too_ – Jimmy grinned at the thought), Tony himself was looking more like normal, though still not wholly himself.

In fact, Tony had moved to stand at the breakfast bar to watch Palmer. "You're really good at that."

Jimmy nodded, "I know. Last time I counted, I had twenty-four cousins, all at least ten years younger than I am. I'm kinda glad Mom and me moved to DC – I don't get stuck babysitting all the time now."

Tony sat on one of the two '50's style diner barstools that stood for seating for his breakfast bar. When no further conversation was forthcoming, Jimmy maneuvered the baby so he could burp her and asked, "What do you plan to do?"

Tony shook his head, seemingly incapable of forming words just then. The borderline panic from earlier began creeping back into his expression. Jimmy didn't much care for it, so he asked a question he already knew the answer to. "Any chance she's _not_ yours?"

"Well, yeah, Palmer," even almost panicking, sarcasm came easily to Tony, "I'm sure there's a _chance_, but I've got eyes." Even as young as she was, Tony could see the bits of her that had come from him, though he phrased the observations more along the lines of 'Dad's chin, Grandma Patterson's forehead' than 'my' anything.

"Who's the mother?" Palmer's voice was quiet, almost like he wasn't sure if he should ask.

There were only two possibilities, considering the baby's lack of age, and her coloration was too dark to be the second. Tony shook his head, "Don't know her real name. Called herself Stardust. It was that night we went to Fantastique down on DuPont."

Smiling to himself about his own adventures that night – namely, a pair of blonde twins by the names of Myron and Marian – Jimmy could almost, but not _quite_, recall the woman that Tony had taken home. A bitter laugh interrupted his pleasant memories. "What?"

Tony grimaced. "Just realized something."

"What?" Jimmy repeated.

"I didn't pay enough attention to her face to be able to do a sketch."

Jimmy could see that the panic from earlier hadn't really receded very far. Tony was still very much on the verge of losing it altogether. Swaying slightly to lull the baby back to sleep, Jimmy took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. The last thing he needed right now was another instance of choking on his own feet. "Hmm…" he said. "The way I see it, there's a couple of options. First option – you can simply call CPS and be done with it."

"Hah," Tony's voice was more like a bark than he intended. "Yeah, that'd go over _real_ well with Gibbs – 'yeah, Boss, I have a kid, no, I didn't know about it beforehand, but I still sentenced her to a life in the system'."

"Hey," Jimmy glared at his friend. "That's not the only option. The next option is that you keep her for a short while, put her up for private adoption." Before Tony could shoot down that option with the same argument which met the last, Jimmy pushed onwards. "Or you could keep her. If you decide to keep her, be it forever or just until you find someone to adopt her, you've got about ten billion details to take care of."

Tony had always done better with a definable goal than without, and that second option was sounding better and better the more he thought about it. _What __the __hell __do__ I__ know__ about__ babies__ anyway?_ He settled some more, the panic from earlier almost fully dissipated. "Such as?"

"Well, first things first, you'll want to have her checked over by a pediatrician. I doubt she was born in a hospital – she can't be more than a few hours old and the cord's been tied off with what looks like a piece of shoelace." Jimmy checked on the baby and seeing that she'd gone back to sleep, he gently nestled her back in the laundry basket. "You'll also need to have a paternity test done. Even though we can both see the resemblance, it's best to have real proof, just in case." He didn't bother to go into just what 'just in case' might entail; both of them had enough life experience that they could easily fill in the gaps. "You also are gonna need to pick up a few things for her – diapers, formula, some clothes, and probably a car seat, too."

"Jimmy…" Tony met his friend's eyes. Palmer was a little shaken by the confusion and helplessness he saw – it was almost as disturbing, in its own way, as Tony's panic of earlier.

"You don't have to ask," he said.

An hour later found the unlikely trio in the baby section of the closest Super WalMart. Though Jimmy had held the baby on the way over in Tony's car, she was currently buckled into the carrier bolted to their shopping cart. She was awake, but mercifully quiet. Tony was a little disappointed, though even he would have been hard-pressed to admit as much, even to himself, to see that her eyes were a nondescript shade of dark blue before an almost-forgotten snippet of dialogue from _Gone __With __the__ Wind_ surfaced, something about how all babies had blue eyes.

As Palmer added more stuff to the mostly-full cart, Tony couldn't help but ask, "You sure we really need _all_ this?" He gestured to the mound of merchandise. Granted, most of the space was taken up by the car seat's box, but _still_!

Jimmy nodded, "Sure am. If she stays with you for even a week, you'll wind up using everything here at least once. And I'm almost positive I'm forgetting something that you're going to wind up needing, but not having."

Tony stilled any further questions, though he did wince when they went through the check-out. _Five__ hundred__ bucks?_ With the exception of the car seat, everything else purchased fit into six plastic bags.

On arriving back at Tony's apartment, Jimmy set to removing packaging and tags from their purchases while talking Tony through diapering and clothing the baby. Once successfully dressed, she began fussing again, and Palmer switched to talking Tony through making up a bottle for her. Tony was just about to set the bottle in the microwave when he noticed the time shown by its glowing green numerals.

"Shit!" It was almost six o'clock – over three hours had passed since he'd gotten the call from McGee about the body at Anacostia Park.

"What?"

"I totally forgot!" Tony sat the bottle in the microwave and turned it on. "We got a case, it's why I was heading out this morning to begin with! Gibbs is gonna _kill_ me."

Jimmy took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and slowly released it while scrubbing a hand across his face. "Hey, no he won't."

Tony leveled an incredulous look at Palmer. "You're joking, right?"

Jimmy grinned. "Nope. Way I figure it, you've got probably the only reason Gibbs would accept for being late – aside from winding up in the hospital."

"Still gonna hafta call in. I don't think I'll be going to work today." Tony reached into his jacket pocket for his cell, only to discover that neither he nor Palmer had disconnected from their call earlier. "Shit!" This time, the cuss word was hissed with enough venom that paint should have peeled from the ceiling.

"What now?" Jimmy asked. The baby's fussing was rapidly turning into whimpers that he knew from experience would rapidly escalate to all-out screaming.

The microwave dinged as Tony answered, "We never hung up. Probably have about a million missed calls… You, too, for that matter."

Jimmy grimaced a parody of a smile. "You're probably right." He retrieved his cell from his own pocket and glanced at the display while Tony screwed the nipple onto the bottle.

"You're _positive_ this is what she's supposed to be eating? It smells like it's gone bad already."

Tony was right – there were eighteen missed calls on his cell. "Absolutely sure, Tony. It actually smells _worse_ if it has gone bad – which it only does if you make a bottle and forget about it in the fridge or something. The powder will store for forever."

Unsure how anything that already smelled like sour milk could possibly smell worse, Tony took Jimmy at his word and approached the fussing infant in the car seat on the bar.

"She's not a bomb about to go off, Tony," Jimmy looked up from his phone and grinned at his friend. _Not __yet,__ anyway.__ Wait __until__ that__ stuff __works __its __way__ through __her, __though._ Standing, Jimmy returned the phone to his pocket. "I'm going to go in, see if Dr. Mallard needs me for anything. If not, then I'll be back shortly."

"Why not just call him?" Tony asked, trying to figure out how to feed the baby without having to pick her up.

"That won't work," Jimmy said. "You'll need to hold her, or else she's going to wind up swallowing more air than she should. She won't break, you know. And because I'm sure Dr. Mallard's worried – I missed eight calls from him and ten from Abby." While Tony figured out how to pick up the baby and make sure she got fed, Jimmy headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. "What – if anything – do you want me to tell them?" There was no need to clarify which 'them' Jimmy was talking about.

Tony sighed. Jimmy wasn't exactly the best liar on the planet, and even omitting the truth seemed to cause more problems than it was worth in most cases. "If you see them, and they ask, might as well let them know the truth. I fucked up – might as well get the gossip out of the way sooner rather than later."

"Back later, then," Jimmy said, leaving. He knew better than to argue with Tony when he got like that. _In __that __sort__ of__ mood, __he __can__ convince __himself __that __he__'__s __the__ single,__ sole__ source __of__ all__ problems__ on __earth. __No__ sense__ in __trying __to __talk __him __out__ of __it __before __he__'__s__ ready __to __listen._ One of the oldest reasons the pair were still friends, unlikely as the friendship might seem from an outsider's perspective, was simply because they never tried to make the other be anything but who they were, bad moods and all.

On his way in to work, though, Jimmy fretted, wondering just what he was going to say to describe what was going on – that is, what to say that _wouldn__'__t _wind up as the topic of conversation in the break room for the next six years. Though it took the entire trip, Jimmy made up his mind. Squaring his shoulders, he strode into the building. He headed for Autopsy, and as soon as he stepped into the room, his tentative plans crashed down around his ears – Gibbs was in with Ducky.

Had it been any other day, Jimmy would have simply stammered out an apology for being late and hurried off to clean something until Gibbs and Dr. Mallard finished their conversation. Though the day had barely begun, it was already hardly a normal day. A hasty revision of his earlier plans had him quietly waiting for a gap in their discussion of bruising on the latest cadaver's neck. Or did, until Gibbs said, somewhat sarcastically and without even looking up from the dead man, "Nice of you to join us, Palmer. You don't happen to know where DiNozzo is, do you?"

Normally, the tone of Gibbs' voice would have been enough to start Jimmy stammering and babbling, but, as already mentioned, it was anything but a normal day. Instead of getting flustered, Jimmy's temper – a rare thing to see, indeed – flared. He drew himself upright, and noticed that he was exactly the same height as the almighty Gibbs; but the thought was fleeting, especially as his mouth had already opened. "Well, I'd apologize for being late, except you see that as a sign of weakness – only _you_ could confuse common courtesy with weakness. I've had a _hell_ of a morning already, and to come in here to discuss the situation with _my_ boss only to be met with snide comments from _you_ is _not_ making it go any better! But to answer your question, yes, I know where Tony is – he's at his apartment, dealing with an emergency that had him calling me to his place at three o'clock this morning, and I imagine he'll call _if_ he gets the chance to! Were it not for the fact that it's a favor to Tony, if it were up to me, I'd leave you wondering!"

The end of Jimmy's rant had an unforeseen side-effect – Ducky was stunned speechless. Neither Jimmy nor Gibbs noticed, however. Though somewhat taken aback by the uncharacteristic show of temper, Gibbs took a step closer to Palmer, edging into his personal space. "What the hell's gotten into you?" Gibbs' own temper was beginning to boil up from the steady low simmer it had been running at since Tony failed to show at the crime scene earlier that morning. Before Palmer had a chance to respond, however, what he actually said repeated through Gibbs' head. He quickly switched tracks. "What emergency, Palmer? Why's DiNozzo not in yet?"

"Don't you think that should have been your first question?" Jimmy's temper was rapidly winding down – his mom had always joked that he was a firecracker with a three-hour fuse, it took a _lot_ to wind him up, but it was usually all over with in a matter of one big flash – helped along by the genuine look of concern Gibbs sported. He sighed, "Look, if it were up to me, I'd just leave you in the dark and let Tony deal with you – but I won't do that to a friend of mine. Besides, Tony told me to let people know if they asked."

"Come to the point, Palmer!"

Sighing again, Jimmy decided that the morning had already contained far more drama than anyone should have to live through outside a Mexican soap opera, rehashed his morning.

* * *

Back in apartment 5A, Tony was just finishing up feeding the baby. Slowly, he was coming to terms with the fact that he _probably_ wasn't going to drop her. "You know, you're actually kind of cute," he murmured to her, only marginally aware that he was speaking out loud. With a couple of tablespoons of formula still remaining in the bottle, she let go of the nipple and yawned.

Tony figured she knew better than he did about when she was full, and so set the bottle down on the counter. Following Palmer's instructions and example from earlier, he lifted her to his shoulder. Moments later, she let loose a belch which had Tony blinking in surprise. "_Damn_, girl," he grinned at her, "I've heard wimpier burps during beer-pong with _professionals_!"

And then he realized that something thick and slimy was oozing its way down the back of his Armani suit jacket.

Tony, who had seen some of the most stomach-churning crime scenes _ever_, gagged when the stench of lightly-used formula hit his nose. "Now that's just plain _gross_." Not even that time he'd come across the body of an elderly woman, forgotten in her car in a mall parking lot for nearly three weeks during the height of summer could match the stench.

The baby didn't seem to care. She simply yawned again and closed her eyes.

After snugging her back into the car seat, Tony quickly stripped out of his jacket. "My dry-cleaner is _never_ gonna forgive me. Sure, he does wonders with mud, blood's not a problem, heck, even the occasional wine stain's not an issue, but _that_? I wouldn't wish that on _anyone_." He also took the time to put his gun away and change into jeans and a battered, old Ohio State T-shirt. Checking the time, he found that it was nearing seven-thirty. _Another__ half-hour__ and__ Vance__ should__ be __in._ He sighed and headed for his desk, situated in a corner of his living room, next to the French doors to his balcony. He powered on his laptop and absently hit the 'on' button for his stereo.

The light tones of Frank Sinatra's _All__ of __Me_ album filled the air as he dug into doing some research into private adoption online. Within twenty minutes, Tony's brain was hurting – there really were far too many options out there. What he'd assumed to be a relatively simple process of matching a kid to prospective parents and signing a few papers was, in reality, far, _far_ more complicated. To start with, there was the matter of what agency – if any – to go through. Did he want an open adoption or closed? Was he willing to adopt to single or same-sex parents? Did religion matter? And that didn't even touch on the fact that he couldn't locate a single helpful online article that did more than mention 'birth father' in more than passing terms, to say nothing of anything remotely resembling his situation.

Sighing for the umpteenth time that morning, Tony decided to shelve the possibility for the moment. _First__ things__ first_, he retrieved his cell and dialed the number for Vance's secretary.

Ten minutes later, he had secured a full week's worth of personal time, as well as a strong suggestion by the secretary to contact HR if he wanted to use the six weeks' worth of paternity leave guaranteed to all new parents. Tony mentioned he'd think about it before disconnecting the call. Considering all he'd asked for was a few days to deal with 'an emergency', he now knew that Jimmy had let them know what was going on, and that gossip was still the only known force that could go faster than the speed of light.

* * *

At eleven o'clock, Jimmy was released from NCIS – after having told of his morning adventures to first Gibbs and Ducky, then to Abby and McGee, then to Ziva, then to Agent Balboa, then to… Well, needless to say, by the time he made it back to his car, the whole of NCIS knew why Tony was missing work. Jimmy went first to his place and gathered his books, laptop, insulin kit, and a couple of changes of clothes. There was no way in hell he was leaving Tony to deal with this on his own.

He also stopped at an actual baby store and picked up a few more things he'd forgotten that morning. _If__ Tony __decides __to __keep __her,__ I__'__ll __see __about __contacting __Aunt __Marne__ and __Uncle__ Jake__ – __see __if__ they __still __have __Therese__'__s __baby__ stuff._ He then swung by Tony's favorite pizza place and grabbed lunch for the two of them.

On arriving back at Tony's, he got as far as opening the door before coming to a dead stop.

Soft jazz filled the apartment, not unusual as that was Tony's favorite music, overlaid with quiet snoring. Tony was stretched out on his massaging recliner, his head canted slightly to the left, with the baby wrapped in his OSU stadium blanket and cuddled protectively to his chest.

Quietly setting the bags from the boutique down with his backpack, Jimmy withdrew his cell and snapped a couple of quick photos. He'd just put the phone back in his pocket when Tony's nose twitched. "Is that pepperoni I smell?" he asked, without opening his eyes – only two people had keys to his apartment, and though both were likely to bring pizza, only Jimmy would try _not_ to wake him.

"Yeah, from Dominic's. Figured you were probably hungry by now."

Tony's eyes cracked open and he grinned, "Absolutely." He frowned slightly. "Gimme a hand?"

Palmer sat the pizza box on the last bit of clear counter on the kitchen bar and stepped around the piles of baby stuff littering the living room to pick up the baby. Tony clamored to his feet and stretched, a series of crackling noises emanating from his spine. Jimmy forced himself not to take notice of how the stretch caused Tony's T-shirt to ride up, exposing a strip of golden skin and the top bit of the trail that traced its way down from Tony's navel. Just because Tony knew that Jimmy 'swung both ways' and was fine with it didn't mean that he would appreciate leering. So, instead of leering, Jimmy distracted himself with the baby.

"You find out anything?" he asked, noticing that Tony's computer was still on and there was a stack of print-outs next to it on the desk.

Tony headed for the pizza box and grabbed a slice. "Yeah. Found out I'm in way over my head on this." He bit into the slice of pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese. "How'd it go at work?" is what he attempted to say, but it merely came out as a muffled series of vowels.

Long-accustomed to deciphering DiNozzoese, Jimmy just shrugged. "Good enough, I suppose. Think everyone knows about this, now, though. And Dr. Mallard said he'd come by this evening to see how she is, make a recommendation for a pediatrician. And Abby volunteered to do the paternity test for you. Oh, I also yelled at Gibbs and lived to tell about it."

Tony almost choked on his food. "You _what_?"

Palmer smiled and set to making a 'crib' out of the stadium blanket and two of the sofa pillows for the baby. "He was being an ass and I lost my temper. He didn't yell back, though he did look a little like someone slapped him with a dead fish." Settling the baby in the nest of blanket and pillows, Jimmy joined Tony at the pizza box. "I have this suspicion that he's not nearly so much as a bastard as he lets on."

Tony couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up and exploding into full-blown belly-laughs. It was almost bad enough to have him sinking to the floor, but before it could develop to that level, the baby woke and began crying.

Quickly settling down, Tony, still chuckling a little, traded his half-eaten slice of pizza for the baby. "Shush, girl. There's nothing to cry about – promise," he cooed to her, cuddling her to his chest, the OSU stadium blanket trailing to the sofa. "Jimmy-boy just did something that tickled my funny-bone."

Surreptitiously, Jimmy snapped another picture from his phone. Helping himself to the pizza, he watched Tony calm the baby down. _Once__ he __got __over __the __nerves,__ he__'__s__ actually __pretty__ good__ at__ this._ Something inside Jimmy melted a little and he sighed mentally. _Come __on, __Palmer.__ It__'__s __one __thing __to__ have __the__ hots __for__ a__ sexy __beast __of __a __man, __but __it__'__s __another __thing__ entirely __when __said__ sexy__ beast __is__ probably __the__ best __friend__ you__'__ve __ever__ had.__ Pull __yourself __together._ The internal pep-talk was nothing new. He had to repeat it at least once a week, especially since he and Tony started hanging out when Gibbs was gone to Mexico.

It didn't help matters much that he was the only person that Tony worked with who knew that the agent wasn't _quite_ as straight as people assumed. Jimmy could understand the whys on that, though – his cousin Marcus had come out a year ago, as a junior in high school, and wound up in the ICU because the football team had taken exception to having 'one of them' on their team. Jimmy could only assume that it would be as bad, if not worse, in law enforcement. After all, no one really cared if the 'Autopsy Gremlin' was a little… weird. Hell, it was almost _expected_. But it was another thing entirely for a Special Agent – particularly when said agent dealt almost exclusively with the military. So he knew why Tony played the womanizer at work; he just prided himself on knowing what Tony meant when he mentioned he spent the weekend with a 'leggy blonde with a great ass' or a 'smoking-hot brunette gymnast'.

Slowly, Tony managed to get the baby to calm down, though she didn't go back to sleep just yet. Once his attention wasn't focused entirely on his… the girl, he glanced over to see Palmer gnawing half-heartedly on pizza crust, with an odd little smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "What?" Tony asked.

"What what?" Palmer replied.

"You just…" Tony shook his head. "Never mind. So, you said Ducky'd be by today? Did he mention what time?"

* * *

**A/N2:** I'm going to be writing/uploading chapters for this three at a time, hopefully I'll actually have a little more time to write from now on, but I refuse to promise anything.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** See the notes from the prologue.

Reminders: Gibbs' rule 13 is 'Never, ever involve a lawyer', mentioned in S6E07 and S7E24 and Tony mentions that his grandfather (he doesn't specify which) left him 10K shares in a 'dot-com company' in S1E14.

* * *

**When it Rains**

Vance parked his car about half a block down the street from the address listed in DiNozzo's personnel file. _This isn't quite what I was expecting,_ he thought while taking care to lock the car behind him. The neighborhood was seedier than he expected – while there wasn't any evidence of gang activity, the sidewalks were cracked and pitted with age and neglect, and the average age of the people who lived in the area seemed to be roughly seventy or eighty. The building wherein DiNozzo lived took up half of one entire block, and had its own secure parking area. It was five stories tall, and had the distinctive art-deco flair which had been popular in the 1920s – indeed, the cornerstone to the building read _May 14,1921_.

An aged doorman glanced suspiciously up from his newspaper as Vance entered the building's lobby and asked, "Help you, sonny?"

"No, thank you," Vance replied, heading for the archaic elevator.

"Wouldn't use that, if I was you," the doorman went back to his paper. "The repairman ain't been by yet to fix it."

Unwrapping a toothpick, Vance took a quick look at the grimed buttons and worn-out carpeting and decided to take the stairs. _Figures DiNozzo lives on the top floor,_ he grumbled mentally as he passed the third floor landing. However, he did make a mental note to spend a little more time in the gym – this director nonsense was getting him out of shape.

Eventually, he wound up on the fifth floor landing. As none of the doors actually still had the apartment numbers affixed to them, it took a moment for Vance to select the door which had a welcome mat that said _nice underwear_. He raised his fist to knock and almost succeeded in giving himself a heart attack when the door opened before he could touch it.

"– run down and –" Palmer's mouth clicked shut. He opened it again, then seemed to think better of it, and tried one last time. "Um… Tony? The director is here."

Somewhere from within the apartment, Vance heard DiNozzo mutter something in Italian. He was sure that whatever it was, it was unflattering. Palmer muttered something about the mail and ducked around Vance just as DiNozzo appeared. "Something I can help you with, Director?"

"Heard the scuttlebutt, DiNozzo. Had to see if it was true."

Tony winced, "Depends."

"On what?"

"How exaggerated it got before you heard it," Tony replied. Though a casual observer would think that the visitor to apartment 5A had been there many, many times, as Tony was seemingly relaxed and unconcerned about it, internally Tony was panicking almost as badly as he had earlier that morning on discovering that his apartment building had not suddenly obtained laundry service. _What the _hell _is Vance doing here?_

Vance stepped a little closer and Tony reflexively stepped back, but noticed what the director was doing and regained the upper hand by stepping aside, "Excuse the mess. Come in, Director. Did you need something to drink? Coffee? Tea? A stiff vodka tonic?"

Again, DiNozzo's apartment wasn't quite what Vance had imagined – though the fifty-two inch plasma-screen television mounted to one of the living room walls matched up with his imaginings, that was the only thing that did. Instead of pizza boxes, swimsuit magazines, and piles of laundry, the door opened to a short hallway that had a coat closet along one wall and an opening into the kitchen along the other. The kitchen itself was off-white tile and pale yellow woods with gleaming chrome appliances and separated from the living room by a breakfast bar and a row of glass-doored cabinets hanging from the ceiling. The hall and living room sported hardwood floors, and the living room walls – what little of them could be seen through the numerous built-in bookshelves and the TV – were painted pale green. The shelves themselves contained more books than Vance had imagined DiNozzo had ever read in his life, but nearly all of them held signs of not only having been read but damn near _memorized_. A small desk occupied the corner of the room between the wall with the TV and a pair of glass-paneled French doors, curtained in a green three shades darker than the paint on the walls, that opened onto a balcony. Through the glass, the director could see a small barbecue grill, a white-painted wrought-iron café table and two matching chairs, and a potted plant – some sort of ivy, complete with pyramidal trellis – occupying the balcony's limited space. A monstrous brown leather recliner sat angled to a long, low sofa, likewise brown but not upholstered in leather, with a glass-topped coffee table between them and the television. Just under the television was a wooden chest of drawers, and Vance's eye for detail determined that the drawers themselves were just large enough to house rows of DVDs with their spines up for easy identification. Of course, the vast majority of the furnishings were buried under piles of recently-purchased baby stuff, but all-in-all, the apartment itself was both cleaner and better-decorated than Vance would have thought.

"Director?"

Wrenching his attention back to DiNozzo, Vance noticed that the man himself looked as though his inner compass had lost contact with magnetic north, and was trying like hell to hide that fact from anyone who cared to look. "Coffee," he said. "Sweet, no cream."

While his agent busied himself with the coffee maker tucked between a new microwave and an archaic toaster-oven, Vance allowed his gaze to make another sweep of the visible portions of the apartment. There were two framed movie posters – one hung on a kitchen wall, the other just barely visible in the hallway – and like the TV, were similarly some of the few points Vance had right in his mental imaginings of the agent's home. The books were a vast and varied collection spanning everything from classic Greek literature (a copy of Homer's collected works appeared to be particularly battered and well-used) to the most recent edition of Shooter's Bible: Guide to Rifle Ballistics. Sporadically placed among the tightly-packed books were photos framed in matching silver frames, primarily of the MCRT, though there were a couple with what Vance assumed to be DiNozzo's fraternity brothers. An eight-by-ten black and white photo tinged yellowish with age held a place of honor on the center of the DVD chest under the TV.

The photo showed a woman of about twenty-six or -seven, who had long, dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and was wearing a summer-weight garden-party dress in a style that immediately dated the photo to 1978 or 1979. She was sitting on a piano bench – the piano itself was a baby grand – with an arm around a little boy who could only be a first- or second-grade aged DiNozzo. Vance was vastly amused, though it didn't show on his face, that the little boy in the photo was wearing a white sailor suit, complete with straw hat.

From the photo, his gaze traveled to the wooden chest itself. The piece of furniture was roughly four and a half feet long, a foot deep, and was primarily the distinctive honey color of high-quality oak; the fronts of the drawers were inlaid in a complex chevron pattern consisting of pale cream-colored, reddish, and nearly black slivers of wood, and the handles were an odd greenish color. There were two rows of five drawers, underneath which was a shelf space, containing DiNozzo's DVD player and Xbox, bracketed by a drawer on either side, a third row of nothing but drawers, followed by a larger shelf-space containing a high-end stereo system, again bracketed by drawers, only the ones to either side of the stereo were smaller than the rest, about the size of CDs. Two drawers in two rows framed the stereo. Carved ivy, looking suspiciously like the potted plant on the balcony, curled up the corners from the legs of the piece to form the edge along the front, meeting in the middle to surround a small oval spot which sported the letters 'ADD'. It took a moment for Vance to realize that it was DiNozzo's initials, and about a half a second longer to realize that Gibbs was the most-likely source of the unusual piece of furniture.

"Here," DiNozzo's voice dragged Vance's attention back to his host. The agent handed him a plain white mug. Vance sipped at it, not breaking eye-contact with DiNozzo. Tony cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I can dispense with the pleasantries. What are you doing here?" he said.

Vance took another sip of the coffee – it was surprisingly good, and figured it was probably Gibbs' influence. "Like I said, DiNozzo. I had to see if the rumors were true." He could see blatant skepticism on the agent's face and clarified, "And I will admit that you puzzle me. I don't much care for puzzles."

Tony scoffed. "Aren't you in the wrong line of work, then?"

Vance gave a slight shrug, "Perhaps."

"Why?" DiNozzo asked. "Why do I puzzle you?"

The director took another drink of his coffee before answering. "Mainly because you've outlasted every other teammate Gibbs has ever had. Nine years, DiNozzo, with eight as acting SFA… That's a long time to stick around."

"For someone with my track record, you mean."

Vance shook his head. "No – for anyone. Most people have ambitions, DiNozzo. Two or three years as SFA, then they ask for a promotion to Agent Afloat with an eye on obtaining their own team someday. Your file indicates you not only never requested a promotion, but you actually turned one down. This puzzles me."

It was Tony's turn to shrug a little. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Tony's mouth, but Vance was at a loss as to explain why. "Still seems like the right decision." Unknown to Vance, Tony's memory was supplying him with the little fact that had he accepted the position in Rota, just over a year later, Gibbs and Maddie Tyler would have drowned in the Potomac. Catching Vance's questioning gaze, Tony dropped his arms to his sides. "Oh, you want to know why?" Vance nodded. Tony gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat if you like. To answer the question…" he shrugged again. "I'm happy here, doing what I'm doing. No reason to change a good thing."

Vance accepted Tony's invitation to sit, and scooted a pile of white and green baby clothes off of a corner of the sofa. "I would think you'd want the pay increase if nothing else."

Tony chuckled, the sound both genuinely amused and completely unlike any other laugh Vance had heard from the man before. "I honestly don't need it, Director Vance." Vance sent an obvious 'explain' look towards Tony. "You think I could afford Armani and Hugo Boss on an SFA's salary? Sure, Dad might have cut me out of the will, but Grandpa Paddington never got the memo. He left me ten thousand shares in Google; the dividend pays out quarterly."

Even at home, comedic timing is everything, and Vance choked a little on his coffee. "_Google_?"

"And that's not touching on what Nonna – Dad's mom – left me." Tony's eyebrow quirked in amusement. "There is a reason I have a financial advisor."

A small detail – one of many which confused Vance at the time – from DiNozzo's file sprang forth in his memory: a receipt for $25,000 cash from three years earlier. The cash itself was still sitting in an evidence box back at HQ. If his memory was right, it had been used to bust a human trafficking ring. He made a mental note to check in on the status of the case and make sure the money was returned if it was no longer needed. _This actually explains a lot. He isn't moving on, because – and I can't believe I'm thinking this – he really _is _happy here._ While Vance was thinking, fussy baby noises began to emanate from the car seat on the breakfast bar. "Excuse me, Director." Vance absently made a 'go ahead' motion and returned to his thoughts. _This actually does explain a lot. The goofball attitude first and foremost – it's not like he's going to wind up on the streets if he loses his job. But from just that one instance… He offered up cash money, from his own pocket, to finance that sting. Have the feeling he hasn't missed it, either._

"You'd pay to be allowed to do this job, wouldn't you?" Vance asked, turning slightly on the sofa cushion to watch the now somewhat understandable agent removing the 'rumor' from the car seat.

"Shush, girl," Tony murmured, wondering what had her fussing now. He met Vance's eyes and grinned. "Probably so, Director. Probably so."

Vance climbed to his feet, satisfied he'd finally figured out a large portion of what made DiNozzo tick. "And this, I feel safe in assuming, is the source of the rumors circulating at work?" He maneuvered around the furniture and assorted detritus from that morning's excursion to WalMart.

"Yeah," Tony replied. From his posture, Vance could tell that though he was still nervous about inadvertently hurting the baby, he was rapidly learning how to deal with it.

"May I?" Vance held his hands out to take her.

With obvious hesitation, Tony handed the baby to the director.

While Vance distracted the baby – quite admirably so, even if the mental image of him talking gibberish was one which had Tony wishing brain-bleach existed – Tony set about mixing up another bottle of formula. When the microwave dinged, Tony made to take the baby back, but Vance said, "I've got this." Tony handed over the bottle. "And Tony? Off hours, the name's Leon."

Tony's blank stare of confusion was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Answering it, he listened to the person on the other end for a moment, simultaneously wondering what the _hell_ had just happened, before speaking, "Yeah, Jimmy – it's safe to come back up." Ending the call with Palmer, Tony took a long look at… _Leon_ and finally just asked. "_What_?"

Vance glanced over at Tony. "She really does look just like you, you know," he smiled – an act which was, on some unidentifiable level, disturbing – and returned the majority of his attention to the newborn he held. "I know a really great family lawyer; I'll have her give you a call. You want me to give her your cell or home number?"

If Tony hadn't already been leaning on the counter, he would have backed away slowly. "Who _are_ you and what have you done with the director? Should I check for pods?"

Vance laughed. "Left the director at work, Tony. Think I can keep him there for the duration, too, except for a couple more little things. Firstly," he looked up from the baby and met Tony's eyes, "sending you off as Agent Afloat wasn't in any way a punishment. I honestly thought I was doing you a favor, getting you the experience you need if you expected to head your own team. I need you to know that."

"Duly noted."

"Secondly, for all your antics at work, I _do_ see the good in the work you do."

Tony scoffed, but wisely remained silent.

"I can even, at times, see why you took on the role of 'class clown', so to speak. What we do can wear, and wear heavily. You help lighten that." The sound of the apartment door opening didn't seem to register as Vance finished speaking. "And the effort, while not always appreciated at the time, _is_ appreciated. Lastly, well… As long as I'm in the big chair, I won't move you, not unless you ask for it first."

"Can I get that last part in writing?"

Vance grinned, and the image was just as disturbing as the smile. "I'll even have it notarized for you."

"Have what notarized?" Palmer asked, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen, Tony's mail in hand.

Tony answered, "I'll explain later, Jimmy."

For the next half-hour, conversation was somewhat stilted and forced, though it gradually managed to become less so over the duration. Most of the talk centered on either sports or stories from… _Leon_ about when his kids were babies or similar stories from Jimmy about his plethora of cousins. While talking, _Leon_ kept hold of the baby while Jimmy and Tony set about cleaning up the mess.

About the same time the baby was finally settling back into sleep, _Leon_ checked his watch and let out a hiss. "Damn it. Lunch's over. Gotta head back to the office." He climbed to his feet and gently handed the newborn to Palmer – an act over which _Leon_ would be scratching his head in that 'who'd'a thunk it' sort of way for _weeks_ – and headed for the door, Tony not far behind. Pausing just outside the door to the apartment, he turned and addressed Tony one more time. "So, you never did answer me. Want me to give Liza your home number or your cell?"

Tony sighed a little. "Despite rule thirteen, I think this time, I have to. So, cell – haven't had a home phone since I got back from the Seahawk."

Leon nodded and started to say something else before just closing his mouth and shaking his head.

"What?" Tony asked. "I think we've come a little to far to mince words at this late date."

"Just… If you plan to keep her, you do realize you'll need a bigger place, right?"

That caused the first flash of a true DiNozzo smile, teeth and all. "Hell, if I need to, I'll just remodel. Jeremiah Wingerson in 5B's lease will be up next month, and 5C's still on the market. Easy enough to pull the ads."

Closing his eyes in resigned acceptance that he'd rarely, if ever, truly have the upper hand around Tony outside of work, Leon said, "You own the building, don't you?"

Still smiling at the director, Tony slowly closed his door while saying, "I'll see you at work," a nearly-imperceptible pause, "Leon."

* * *

Between winnowing down the suspect list on their murder victim, Tim, Ziva, and Abby all had the chance to have three separate conversations wherein the consensus was reached that A.) none of them were all that surprised at what happened to their friend and teammate, B.) none of them could really imagine Tony as a dad, C.) all of them agreed that Gibbs was definitely living up to that second 'B' in his name more so than normal, though none of them were too sure on the reason, and D.) all of them wanted to know why he'd called _Palmer_, of all people, when he'd found his… guest that morning.

On Gibbs' part, though, he was not unaware of the conversations, at least those between Tim and Abby and Ziva and Abby. Both times, he'd been outside the lab doors, and he knew his people well enough to realize that Tim and Ziva had likely already spoken to each other about the situation. As to his own reaction… Well, he knew he was being harsher than normal, but _damnit_! This was _Tony_, not just some random coworker.

Despite not really wanting the knowledge, thanks to Tony's bragging about his conquests, Gibbs knew the man was normally exceedingly cautious regarding his sex-life, so his initial reaction was best described as 'how the hell did that happen?', but then common sense asserted itself and pointed out that even pairing birth control and condoms, his neighbors down the street had had a baby boy two years earlier, so nothing was absolutely foolproof, unless it involved abstinence and that was something Gibbs wasn't too sure Tony even knew the meaning of. And then he had to wonder just what Tony planned to do about it. The most-logical course of action would be for him to simply call CPS, even if the thought of it made Gibbs angry. He was enough of a realist, though, to know that this was _Tony_, and logic in his personal life was another of those things that Gibbs wasn't too sure Tony knew the meaning of, so he couldn't be certain that's what Tony would do.

Actually, round about lunchtime, Gibbs realized that if Tony was going to go the logical, easy route, he would have done so already. This left him with the wholly disliked feeling of not being able to anticipate what one of his people was going to do.

But, then again, it _was_ Tony, and Gibbs never was able to predict his senior field agent's actions 100% of the time.

Resolving to head over to Tony's place as soon as an opportunity presented itself, Gibbs tried not to think on the matter.

But it was _damn_ hard.

* * *

"Mark today on the calendar," Tony said after closing the door on… _Leon_.

"What? Why?" Jimmy, though still a little fluttery because of Vance's unscheduled visit, was now more amused than nervous. Vance was a completely different person away from the job, and from what Jimmy saw, he could easily see himself being friends with the man in the future, even if they weren't there yet.

"Because today has been the single weirdest day of my life to date. I want to make sure I mark the date, that way next year, I'll have a little warning and won't bother getting out of bed."

Jimmy laughed, "Come on, Tony. It hasn't been too bad."

Slumping into his recliner, Tony argued back, albeit quietly so as not to wake the baby, "No? Well, let's count the tally – before today, the top spot on my weird shit-o-meter was the case on the Chimera, which scored a solid eighteen, before that was when I caught the plague, which scored a twelve; and keep in mind this _used _to be a ten-point scale! One: I couldn't for the life of me sleep last night, despite closing the Kai case. Two: A call-out at two-thirty in the morning, so even if I _had_ been sleeping, I wouldn't have gotten any _rest_. Points three through twelve," he flung a melodramatic arm towards the baby sleeping in a 'crib' of pillows and blankets on the opposite end of the sofa from Jimmy's corner next to the chair. "Thirteen: We didn't end our call this morning, thus breaking Gibbs' rule three. Fourteen: I may not have witnessed it – but I wonder if Abby can pull it up from the surveillance footage? – but you _yelled at Gibbs_. Fifteen: I just had a civil-bordering-on-friendly _chat with Vance_. Hell, that one deserves to be points sixteen through twenty, too, just on the basis of him showing up here to begin with!"

Before Tony could go much farther into working himself into a tizzy, the tirade was interrupted by a knock on the apartment door. Jimmy quickly stood and headed down the short hall while saying, "That's probably Doctor Mallard – you stay there. Remember what I said this morning about panic attacks and ambulances."

Jimmy cracked the door open to check that he was right, which he was, before stepping out into the hallway to greet Ducky. "Hey," he said. "I'm glad you could come by so early."

"The autopsy was relatively straightforward – cause of death, asphyxiation, most likely by a bicycle chain. It will be up to Team Gibbs to determine the whys, of course," Ducky replied. "And speaking of Team Gibbs, how is Anthony?"

Jimmy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Been walking an edge between forced-normal and panic almost all day. He doesn't show it much, but this has got him completely freaked out."

"And the child?"

Jimmy smiled a little. "Even without a DNA test, you can tell she's his. Otherwise, as far as I can tell, she's fine."

Ducky gripped his black doctor's bag a little tighter and straightened, "Well, then. Shall we see if perhaps we cannot lend a little more support to Tony?" He gestured to the door and followed Jimmy into the apartment.

Tony was slumped forwards, sitting on the edge of his recliner, his elbows on his knees, and his hands cradling his head almost as though he had the worst headache of his life. He looked up at the sound of their footsteps and forced a smile. "Hey, Ducky. How's the case going?"

"For full details, I suggest you speak with your team," it was obvious from Ducky's tone that the doctor believed this to be the best course of action, "but Staff Sergeant Bryce McCall was strangled to death with, of all things, what appears to have been a bicycle chain."

"And the point total increases by another one," was Tony's reply. He didn't notice the flash of confusion from Ducky, nor the eye-roll from Palmer. Tony simply sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. "She's on the sofa."

Knowing that the whole of Team Gibbs, as well as Abby, Jimmy, and himself had standing open invitations to treat Tony's apartment like their own home, Ducky thought nothing of the lack of any semblance of formal hospitality. He knew if he needed something to drink or anything like that, all he need do is ask, and only that much if he didn't feel like helping himself, so he turned the majority of his attention to the latest complication in Tony's life, but kept an eye on the man himself.

Ten minutes of gentle inspection later and he was in complete agreement with Jimmy – the baby was completely healthy and Tony was hanging on to his sanity by the skin of his teeth. Sharing a sidelong glance of communication with his assistant, Ducky gave Tony the number for a very reputable pediatrician and made his excuses before heading back to NCIS. At least he now had something useful to pass along to the four very worried remaining members of the team.

Once Ducky had gone, Tony moved back to his desk. Before he could hit a button to wake his sleeping computer, Jimmy crossed the room and laid a hand on his shoulders. "Not now, Tony. It can wait. Why don't you go to bed? You're obviously exhausted, and you know that everyone else will be by as soon as they can, so you should rest while you have the chance. I'll keep an eye on her."

Jimmy's hand was warm and heavy and his words made the most sense of anything that he'd gone through that day, so Tony simply nodded. He retreated to his room and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

**A/N2:** I have more written, but not yet reviewed - and if any of the italicized words missed their spaces, I'm sorry. I'll try to fix any issues later. (I thought FFN had that glitch fixed? What the fuckity fuck?) Anyway, remember to lemme know what y'all think.

**03/13/2012:** Reread and assassinated a name continuity issue.


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** I'm now a GREAT AUNT. My sister's oldest just had a baby on 11/20 – a little girl they named (I'm sure I'm spelling this wrong) Analise Rose (pronounced Ann-ah-leese). I think I'll call her Elsie, just to piss her mom off. _Evil__ smirk._

* * *

**When it Rains**

Jimmy spent several hours splitting his attention between his _Ethics__ in__ the__ Modern __Medical__ Environment_ course text and taking care of the baby. At five-thirty, he paused long enough to help himself to a sandwich of cold-cuts from Tony's fridge and take his insulin, before burying himself in his coursework again. When a quiet knock sounded on the apartment door, it took a moment for him to realize just what the odd tapping noise was.

Glancing at the clock on his cell, he saw it was nearing nine o'clock. Tony was still sleeping solidly, as was the baby – for the moment. Opening the door a crack, he saw Abby standing in the hall, chewing on her lip. "Hey, Abby," he said, fully opening the door and taking care to keep his voice down. "Come in. Tony's sleeping, though."

"That's okay," Abby replied, stepping inside. She took a moment to hang her winter cloak in the closet – the black velvet one lined in red silk, insulated, with fake fur trimming the hood – and deposit her boots next to Jimmy's sneakers. She smiled brightly at Jimmy, "Can I see her?"

Knowing that if he said 'no', he'd have to deal with a pouting Abby, at least until Tony woke up, Palmer took a half step back and held out his hand. "Spikes."

The goth made a surprisingly quiet high-pitched noise and bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment before stripping off her wrist-cuffs (which were simple narrow bands with a single row of thick metal spikes) and handing them to Jimmy. For a change, she wasn't wearing a collar, just a simple silver chain supporting a largish pendant which read _Free__ Hugs_. Her clothing likewise wasn't as… complicated as she normally wore, though it was still recognizably Abby-style. Her jeans, unadorned by either spikes or chains, had one black leg and one bright red, though the belt she wore matched her cuffs, and her shirt was a black tee with what looked like red mah-jongg tiles printed sporadically on it, overlaid with a button-down sweater the same shade of red as the leg of her jeans, with faux fur trim on the collar.

The baby – still snugged, but not belted into, the car seat – was sitting on Tony's coffee table, sharing the space with Jimmy's laptop, ethics text, notebook, pen, and a half-empty glass of water. Abby quickly covered the distance between the archway to the hall and the sofa in comically tip-toed strides. Another disturbingly quiet and high-pitched 'aww' noise came from her as she caught sight of the sleeping infant. Jimmy could tell she was forcibly restraining herself from just snatching her up into the mother of all Abby-cuddles.

"She should be waking up for another feeding soon," Jimmy said, sinking back into his place on the couch.

Abby perched on the edge of the sofa cushion closest to the carrier and watched the baby sleep for several minutes. Just as Jimmy was resigning himself to an uncharacteristically silent Abby-visit and was returning his attention to his studies, Abby started talking in a much quieter tone than Palmer was used to. "You weren't kidding – she really does look a lot like Tony."

"I know, Abby."

She slid back a little on the cushion, but still kept most of her attention on the baby. "Can I ask something?"

Jimmy shrugged, "Sure."

She worried her lower lip with her teeth for a moment before blurting out, "How come Tony called _you_?"

Palmer frowned and sighed. "Shouldn't you ask Tony that one?"

"He's asleep," she simply replied, as though that explained everything.

"I'm his friend – why wouldn't he call me?"

"But why not Gibbs or Ducky or…"

"You?" Jimmy hazarded a guess as to how she had wanted to end the question before trailing off. Abby simply turned her cat-green gaze to him and nodded. Removing his glasses, he polished the lenses on the hem of his t-shirt to buy time. "Well," he said, pushing the round frames back onto his face, "he'd already gotten the call about the body this morning, so he wouldn't have called Gibbs first – I don't think there's a force on earth that would make Tony intentionally have something personal interfere with a case. Same goes for Ducky – he would have already been called about the crime scene. Dr. Mallard usually waits until he's already mostly to NCIS before calling me, simply because I live so much closer than he does. Tony knows this, so…" he made a 'there you have it' gesture. "And as to not calling you… Well, maybe he figured you'd already been called out, too."

Before Abby could reply, Tony's voice spoke up from the hall to his bedroom. "Not exactly, Jimmy."

The still-sleep-disheveled agent stepped into the living room and neither Abby nor Jimmy could miss how his eyes fell on the baby-carrier first, before meeting both their gazes. "Hey, Tony," Abby said. Palmer simply gave a little wave of his hand, momentarily struck dumb by how… _cute_ Tony looked in his rumpled OSU t-shirt and worn-out flannel pajama bottoms (light blue and sporting, of all things, a lighthouse motif), with his hair sticking up all over the place and bare feet. As Tony crossed the short distance to his recliner, Abby continued speaking. "If not, then… Why?"

Tony let out a self-depreciating huff of not-quite-laughter. "I was panicking so bad this morning that _I_ didn't know who, exactly, I'd called until I heard Jimmy's voice. I just hit a number and 'send' – was probably lucky I didn't wind up calling my voicemail or winding up with a _very_ irate 911 dispatcher."

Abby knew that Tony kept the contact numbers for the team as the speed-dial on his cell; 'one' was the default for voicemail, 'two' was Gibbs' cell, 'three' was Gibbs' house line, 'four' was McGee, 'five' was Ziva, 'six' was her own speed-dial shortcut, 'seven' was Palmer's cell, 'eight' was Ducky, and 'nine' was to 911. Since Palmer was sitting on the end of the couch nearer Tony, and facing her direction, rather than DiNozzo's, Tony didn't see the effect that his admission had on the assistant ME – but Abby did. _He__ looks __like__ someone__ just __told__ him__ that __his __dog __was __run __over._ "I'm not quite so panicky now, though," Tony continued. "Kinda glad it _was_ Jimmy I wound up calling – he's just about the only one, besides Gibbs, who has any real experience with little kids, _and_ Ducky's fully capable of doing without him for a few hours." Palmer perked up a little, but still seemed somewhat down about it until Tony finished with, "Besides, he's probably the one I woulda picked to call, had I actually been, ya know, _thinking_ this morning."

Noticing how the last statement caused Palmer to straighten up and smile brightly, Abby couldn't help but ask, "How's that?"

Tony scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed mentally. _Damn __it. __Didn__'__t__ mean __to__ say__ that._ Opening his eyes again, he saw not one, but two pairs of eyes questioning him. "Abs, you know I love you like a little sister, right?"

Abby nodded, "Yeah. And Tim's the little brother, Ziva's some weird sort of step-sibling, and Gibbs is 'dad'. We all know that, even if we don't ever really talk about it."

Tony echoed Abby's nod, "Right. But Jimmy? He's my _friend_. You and I go clubbing every once in a while and you come over for the occasional movie-night, but when you get right down to it, neither of us have all that much in common outside of work. Same goes for me and McGeek – movie-nights, a venture out to the bar once in a blue moon, and he's the only one I've found who can give me a run for my money on _Mortal__ Kombat_, but like with you, we don't really have a whole helluva lot in common. Same goes for the rest of the team – even you have to admit that if we didn't all work at the same place, it's highly doubtful we ever would have crossed paths, let alone been friends. But Palmer here? If I hadn't met him through work, like if I'd just run into him one night down at Dominic's or at Brewster's… Pretty sure we still woulda been friends." Actually, had Ducky not hired Jimmy as his assistant, it was far more likely that he and Tony would have met, not at the pub near the Navy Yard, but at Fantastique – one of the few places in DC where anything can and did happen and no one looked at you funny for dancing with anyone who wanted to test your moves, regardless of gender or attire (or lack thereof).

Tony could tell that though Abby could see the logic in what he'd said – and Palmer had caught what he _hadn__'__t_ said, primarily the bit about Fantastique – she was getting that stubborn set to her face that usually had him wishing he could take her by the shoulders and shake her until she saw sense. "Oh, Tony! That's not true!"

Tony held up a hand to forestall the Abby-rant he knew was about to bubble forth. "No, it is, and you know it. Let's start with Gibbs, shall we? Of everyone else, he's about the only one who I might have met had I never come to work for NCIS, but even in his case, it's not likely we ever would have spoken."

Temporarily shelving her argument, Abby asked, "Why not? And what do you mean?"

"I spend a lot of free time out at the Y – you know that. In the gym or on the courts or out in the batting cages. I've run across Gibbs out there a few times, but he always had someone with him," Tony explained. "First it was that redhead with the silver convertible, and once with Colonel Mann," a tiny little grin pulled at the corners of Tony's mouth. "I think it's one of his favorite 'date spots'."

Jimmy blinked, obviously more than a little amused at that small insight to the rather enigmatical Gibbs. "Seriously?"

Tony nodded and grinned, "Yeah. But the man does seem to think that whittling should be an Olympic event, so…" He made a 'there you have it' gesture. "Next we'll turn our attention to Ziva. Just about the only thing we have in common outside of work is that we run. And since she lives out in Silver Spring…" he shrugged. "Probably never would have met her, period. Next up's McGee. We both like video games, but I prefer my Xbox and he's into that whole role-playing shtick, so again, it's highly unlikely we ever would have met. You're the same as Tim, and don't shake your head at me, Abigail Sciuto." He narrowed his eyes at her until he was sure she was listening again. "But… Jimmy? He only lives a few blocks from here. We grab drinks at the same bar, wind up meeting randomly on our days off at places like the grocery store, and like a lot of the same things. He's the only one on the team who I can sit around and talk sports with, or who will willingly sit and watch movies with me for an entire day – even if he doesn't like the movie in question, he'll sit and listen to me comment on it. I managed to change his mind about a couple of flicks he'd seen before and hadn't truly appreciated."

"Yeah," Palmer agreed. "He talked me around on this one movie – _Children__ of __Men_ – that I saw back when it was in theaters, but hadn't much liked. It's this weird take on an end-of-the-world scenario that…" he trailed off as he realized that both Abby and Tony were staring at him with nearly-identical little smirks. "What?"

"Don't ever change, Jimmy," Tony replied. He returned his gaze to the forensic goth. "I don't mean that you and McGee and everyone _aren__'__t_ my friends – hell, you said it yourself, we're _family_, but…" He paused for a moment. _Ah,__ to __hell __with __it. __No __way__ I__'__m__ gonna __be__ stingy__ with__ words __this__ late __in __the __game._ "Jimmy's probably my best friend, Abs."

Seemingly forgetting that Palmer was in the room, Abby leapt to her feet. "How? _Why?_ I thought _I_ was…"

Tony quickly pushed himself out of his chair and pulled Abby into a hug, one that she, for what was likely the first time in her life, did _not_ reciprocate. "Abby, please," Tony pleaded. He could feel her shaking, either with rage or with quiet tears, he wasn't sure which. He loud questions had startled the baby into waking, and Tony leveled a quick look at Jimmy, who was already pulling the infant from the car seat and retreating to the dubious privacy of the kitchen.

Abby wrenched herself from Tony's grasp, but didn't back away. She simply looked up with her eyes swimming, though her cheeks remained dry. "Why?" she repeated.

Tony settled his hands on her shoulders and stooped a little to meet her eye-to-eye. "You've got a little brother, right?"

Abby nodded. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Pretend for a moment that you both live in the same city. Would you call him if something like this happened to you?" He could see the flash of amusement run through her eyes at the thought of someone leaving a baby on _her_ doorstep and claiming she was the mother. But he could also tell that he was finally getting through to her that calling Jimmy hadn't been an insult.

She shook her head. "Probably not," she admitted.

"Right. Instead of a sibling, you'd turn to someone who had helped you out several times in the past. Someone you knew you could lean on. Someone who wouldn't be mad at getting called at three o'clock in the morning."

She worried her lower lip between her teeth for several minutes, considering Tony's words. The noises from the kitchen area had died down quite rapidly after the microwave beeped, so she assumed that Palmer had busied the baby with a bottle. Eventually, she slowly nodded and gave a weak smile to Tony. "Sorry," she said, finally stepping into Tony's hug.

Tony let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. _Crisis__ averted._

Abby stepped back from Tony once the hug had run its course and followed Palmer into the kitchen. Tony took a moment once she was out of the room to look up at the ceiling and mouth a heartfelt _why__ me_ to any entities that might have been listening before following her.

Jimmy was holding the baby, who was wearing a tiny white t-shirt, tinier white socks, and pink pants with matching knit cap and all wrapped up in a white-with-bunny-print receiving blanket. The baby was sucking greedily at a mostly-full bottle of that disgusting gunk – though she seemed to like it well enough. Abby was leaning against the breakfast bar, her face clearly saying 'aww… how _adorable_'. Still a little frustrated with Abby's ongoing belief that everything in the world revolved around her in some way – _Well,__ maybe __not __that__ bad,__ DiNozzo.__ Team __Gibbs,__ maybe, __but__ not__ quite __everything__ in __the __world._ – a sly smile surfaced on his face, though only Jimmy noticed it. Tony nodded his head towards the for-once-oblivious scientist. Jimmy smiled. "Hey, Abby. Do you want to take over?"

Tony quickly schooled his expression to one slightly less diabolical, barely succeeding in time for Abby to cast a questioning glance over her shoulder at Tony. "Yeah, knock yourself out, Abs," he said.

She made another of those high-pitched noises that had pulled Tony out of a dead sleep and hurried over to Palmer with her hands outstretched. Letting Abby take over, Jimmy took her place leaning against the bar. "Make sure you burp her when she's done eating," he said. While Abby fed the baby, Tony and Jimmy spent a few minutes discussing football. When Abby sat the mostly-empty bottle down next to Tony, Jimmy smiled. "It's easiest to burp her if you put her up to your shoulder, then pat her back."

Abby did as instructed, mentally arguing that she wasn't an idiot – she may have only been four at the time, but she did remember when her brother was a baby. Her only other real experience with a baby had been when her niece was almost a year old, but she didn't think that should really count. As both men had assumed would be the case, Abby _didn__'__t_ reposition the receiving blanket. Less than a minute of bouncy pacing and patting later, a loud burp rumbled from the tiny bundle. Much as Tony had done that morning, Abby looked at the baby in something akin to surprised respect. Then she noticed what had come out with the noisy belch – her left pigtail and an increasingly large portion of her sweater was now coated with the thick slime of baby-puke – and the look of disgust that flashed across her face was well and truly _priceless_.

Distracted as she was, she didn't notice either man pocket their camera phones.

* * *

While McGee was busy tracking down the possible purchaser of a Clover and Smiths custom touring bicycle, as the chain used to strangle Staff Sergeant McCall left traces of a graphite-based lubricant trademarked by the high-end bike manufacturer, Ziva focused on reviewing the photos from the crime scene for further clues. Gibbs was leaning against the balcony, watching his agents, and still turning the 'Tony problem' over in his mind.

_Always __kinda __figured__ that __one__ of __these__ days,__ Tony__'__s __sleeping __around__ was__ gonna __catch__ up__ with __him, __just __never__ figured__ it__ would __be __like __this__… _He took a slow sip of his coffee and glanced at the clocks on the wall below; it was nearing 2300 hours. _Know__ he__ ain__'__t __takin__' __the__ easy __way__ out__ on __this,__ but__ I __gotta__ wonder __just__ what __he __plans__ on__ doin__'__. __To__ be__ honest,__ I __really__ can__'__t __see __him __as__ a__ dad__ – __the __only __kid __he __ever __got__ along __with __on __the __job__ was__ that__ one __who__ beat __his __high__ score __on__ that __movie-trivia__ game,__ and__ I__'__m__ sure __that__ was__ only__ '__cause __the __kid__ was __a __mini-DiNozzo__… __Well, __that __and__ the __fact __that__ they __weren__'__t__ in__ the__ same __room __for__ more __than __a__ couple __of__ minutes._

He scrubbed a hand across his face, finished his coffee, and headed down the stairs. "Pack up – go home. Be back at 0700, ready to work."

After Ziva and Tim had hurriedly disappeared, Gibbs sank into his desk chair and stared at Tony's empty desk. They had been through a helluva lot together, from bombings and terrorist threats through amnesia and the plague, and in nearly every instance – provided his memory was whole – Gibbs had been able to make educated guesses as to what his senior field agent had done/did/would do in just about any given situation. Granted, _no __one_ was able to know what random bit of gibberish was going to spew forth from Tony's mouth at any given time, but there had always been a comforting predictability in his actions before… Most of the time, anyway.

But this was a situation that had come completely out of left field. It wasn't a bad guy with a gun, or a suicidal cadet on the edge of a building, or even a set of clothes left behind on the flight deck… It was far greater than all of those put together. While Gibbs knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Tony would – and had – willingly put his life on the line for each of his teammates time and again, and he knew that if Ziva or Abby or Tim or even Palmer announced that they were going to be parents, Tony would be first in line to spoil the kid rotten… He just didn't know how Tony was going to handle this.

Slowly getting to his feet and retrieving his coat from the back of his chair, and his gun from the drawer, Gibbs took his own leave of the bullpen. Trying to get into his SFA's head was going to require a lot more alcohol than was readily available at his desk.

* * *

Tim was already parking his car before he realized he wasn't at his own apartment building. The distinctive architecture told him he was at Tony's. He debated, momentarily, on simply turning his car back on and heading home before removing his keys from the ignition and wandering up to the lobby doors. "Little late, ain't it, Tim?"

Tim shrugged. "Could be, Tom. Tony in?"

The pensioner who spent the majority of his days sitting at the desk in the lobby, watching ESPN on the little television behind the counter and sorting mail for the residents, had been at his post probably longer than Tim had been at work. Tom nodded, "Yeah. You missed Abby-girl, though. She went home about half an hour ago."

"Thanks," Tim replied, then headed for the stairs. He knew better than to even attempt the elevator.

A few minutes later, he was standing in the almost circular 'hallway' that served as the doorway to the three apartments on the fifth floor. _Rhomboid?__ Pentagonal? __Is __that __one__ even __a__ word?_ He shook his head to dislodge the train of thought before it had him racing home for a dictionary or reaching for his phone to look it up by reverse-dictionary on One-Look. The low murmur of voices from Tony's apartment let him know that though he might have missed Abby, Tony still had someone over with him. Tim wondered who for all of half a second before he remembered that not only had Jimmy been late to work that morning, but he'd been the one who brought the news of Tony's latest… _issue._

"What the hell are you doing here, McGee?" he whispered to himself, even as his left hand pulled itself into a loose fist, levitated to shoulder-height, and rapped lightly on Tony's door while memories of Tony spontaneously dropping by a couple of years earlier, after he'd shot that undercover cop, playing in the back of his mind.

The door opened after only a short wait, and Tony stood there for a split second before his typical shit-eating grin surfaced. "McGeek! Come in!" Still not sure why he'd come by in the first place, Tim followed Tony into the apartment, and down the short hallway to the living room. "Pay up, Palmer," Tony said, flopping down on the sofa, his hand open and stretched out to where the 'Autopsy Gremlin' was sitting on the other end of the couch.

Knowing better than to sit in Tony's precious recliner, Tim simply stood there and watched as a ten-dollar bill exchanged hands. "How'd you know I was coming?" Tim asked. He really did want to know, particularly since _he_ hadn't known.

Tony's grin was still firmly in place and it brightened somewhat. "Come on, McGee! I know you, that's how. You wouldn't really believe the rumors until you saw it with your own two eyes. So… You came by, soon as the bossman released you for the night, come to stare at the monkey in the zoo."

Before Tim could reply, Palmer interrupted. "Tony!"

DiNozzo glared at his other houseguest, "What?"

"Quit being an asshole."

If Tim hadn't been there to witness it, he wouldn't have believed it. Tony actually shut up, the grin evaporating quickly. DiNozzo sighed, the sound itself was almost unbearably weary. He scrubbed a hand across his face, the pads of his fingers making an odd rasping noise against the five o'clock shadow shading his cheeks and chin. When he finally opened his eyes and looked at Tim again, the forced-Tony-ness that had been present since the apartment door had opened was gone. What remained reminded Tim altogether too much of how Tony had looked on returning to work after Kort had blown up his car.

"What do you need, Tim?"

Suddenly realizing why he'd not gone straight home, Tim glanced between Tony and the bundle sleeping in a car seat on Tony's coffee table. "Just wanted to see if you're okay," he said, "but I can tell you're really _not_." What he said next surprised everyone but Tony. "So, since you're not really up for company, I'll leave you in Palmer's capable hands." Turning to go, he paused once more before leaving the apartment. "Call if you need anything."

On returning home, it took nearly two hours for Tim to process the brief, though informative, visit to his partner's place. One of his last thoughts before falling asleep was, _Who __would __have __thought __Palmer __would __have __grown __a __backbone?_

* * *

Ziva tossed her keys in the little glass dish on her kitchen counter where she stored all her pocket-clutter and hung her coat on the peg next to the archway to the living room. Her new place wasn't as nice as her old apartment had been before being blown sky-high, and she lamented the loss of her piano, but it was still a better place than any she'd lived in while in Israel. Glancing at the clock and doing some mental calculations, she smiled and started pulling things out of the cupboards.

Much like she'd told McGee and Abby earlier, she wasn't really surprised at what had happened to Tony, and likewise couldn't really imagine him as parental material, but regardless, she was going to make sure he had more than take-out and sandwiches to live on while he was working on getting his life back together.

It wouldn't be the first time she'd gone to work with little to no sleep. It was all for a good cause, too, which was more than she could say about most times it had happened in the past.

* * *

**A/N2:** Abby's necklace can be found at Hot Topic's website, as can her jeans. The T-shirt is from Lip Service, and I made up her sweater. And I really struggled with her portion of this chapter. I hope I managed to make it realistic – even on the show, she has moments of complete selfishness that irritate the hell out of me (like when she thought Gibbs had forgotten her birthday or any time Tim shows the least little bit of interest in another woman).

This is probably going to be the last chapter for a while – the only reason I got to upload it was because I've been home for a couple of weeks (Mom had surgery). The next update will be when chance/circumstance allow. This goes for all my fics, not just this one.

Please remember to let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** I know absolutely _nothing_ about family law, so any/all references to anything like that is pure BS that I thought sounded plausible. If anyone knows more than me, please lemme know what I got wrong, so I can come back and fix this at a later date. Thanks in advance.

* * *

**When it Rains**

Setting the chisel aside, Gibbs leaned in and blew a small pile of shavings out of his way. The front end of the toy car was really taking shape rather quickly, and Gibbs allowed a momentary flash of satisfaction – that was one thing the boats couldn't do for him, semi-instant gratification, but he did miss the challenge of a big project. Making toys was all well and good, particularly since they were for a good cause, but sanding the side of a toy sailboat just didn't satisfy his muscles the way sanding the hull of a real sailboat did. Besides, he already had a stockpile of toys done, he didn't really need any more to fulfill his promise, but he needed _something_ to do during downtime…

Allowing the train of thought on what larger projects he could be doing to continue running at the back of his mind, he returned his primary attention to his second's latest bit of drama. "Hell, Tony," he mumbled to himself, "you got more drama in your life than on those damn soaps Diane loved so much. Accused of murder three times, plague, and now a foundling. All we need now is the long-lost relative and all the bases'll be covered. Ever need extra cash, you could always sell your life story – make McGee's little book look like small change."

He sat the toy car aside, stood, and started to head for the stairs before pausing at the workbench long enough to add a splash of bourbon to his still mostly-warm mug of coffee. He adjourned to his living room and sat back on the sofa, sipping his beverage and trying to figure out what Tony was going to do next.

* * *

It was four-thirty in the morning, Palmer was asleep on the sofa, and Tony, though still tired, was standing on the balcony of his apartment, leaning on the brick rail, staring out at the lights. Puffs of white gave temporary substance to his breath, but he was buried so deeply in his own head he didn't notice the frigid temperature through his t-shirt. _What__ the__ hell__ do__ I __do?_ The thought kept chasing itself through his mind, echoing off itself to the point that Tony was about to start banging his head on the brick wall until his brains began dripping down its rough surface.

A whispered voice startled him out of his thoughts. "I did not expect you to still be awake."

"Morning, Ziva," Tony replied, just as quietly. "Did I forget to lock the door, or did you just pick the lock?"

"You forgot to lock it. I think you have been spending too much time with Gibbs. His bad habits are rubbing off on you."

Tony smirked a little. "Congratulations, Ziva – you got that one right on the first try."

Ziva stepped closer to Tony, a serious expression on her face. "Are you alright, Tony?"

His smirk evaporated. "Honestly? No. I keep coming back to two things. First off – how the _hell_ did this happen? I'm careful, for cryin' out loud! This shouldn't have happened. Second thought's what the _hell_ do I do now?"

"I do not know why it happened," Ziva replied, settling a hand on Tony's shoulder. "But… You are a good man, Tony. You will make the right decision." Changing the subject, she finished with, "And you are also icy cold. How long have you been out here?"

"Dunno. Coupla hours, I think."

"Come inside. I brought some food. Let me heat you something."

Tony didn't resist following her into the mostly-dark apartment, though he wasn't hungry in the least. He closed the French doors behind him and latched them, then stood next to the sofa, watching as Ziva unpacked several cloth grocery bags and put numerous Tupperware containers in either the fridge or freezer. There were too many for her to have carried in a single trip up from her car. He tossed an amused glance in Jimmy's direction. _Autopsy__ Gremlin__ sleeps __sound,__ doesn__'__t __he?_ Said 'gremlin' was sprawled on his back, his glasses askew, mouth slightly open, and a large medical text – _Damn __thing__ looks__ bigger __than__ my__ first __apartment__ back __in __Peoria._ – resting on his chest.

"Shakshuka?" Ziva asked, holding aloft a medium-sized square plastic dish with tight-fitting lid.

"Gesundheit," Tony replied.

"No, it is an egg and tomato dish, popular in Israel. It is a little spicy."

"I'm not really hungry right now, Zee."

"I will make you tea, instead," she said, putting the dish in the now-packed fridge with the rest of the food she'd brought over.

"You don't have to."

"I want to," Ziva said, busying herself with a tea kettle Tony didn't recognize.

Any further conversation was derailed as the baby began whimpering. Before Tony could maneuver around the sofa – and its still-sleeping occupant – the whimpers had evolved to outright howls. Jimmy mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled over, his textbook falling to the floor in the process.

Ziva covertly watched while waiting for the kettle to boil. Tony scooped up the crying bundle and started talking to her. Ziva was certain he didn't know he was talking loud enough for her to hear him. "Shush, girl," he said, cuddling her to his chest. "Come on, I know you're not hungry. You don't sound quite so pissed-off when you're hungry."

A small smile surfaced on Ziva's face. _He__ is__ better __at __this __than __I__ gave __him __credit __for.__ Then__ again, __he __has__ been __here__ with__ only __Palmer __for__ help __all__ day.__ This __would __be__ an __example__ of__… __Sink?__ Yes,__ sink-or-swim.__ And__ Tony __is__ actually __swimming._ She chuckled silently as her partner lifted the baby up and sniffed, then grimaced. "Of course. Shoulda realized. Wonder if Jimmy is gonna wake up if I let you cry?"

Palmer actually replied, startling Tony bad enough he nearly dropped the crying infant. "Don't bet on it, Tony. You gotta do it yourself sometime – I'm eventually going home, you know."

Tony winced, "Sorry, Jimmy."

Palmer lifted himself off the couch far enough to remove his glasses and toss them on the coffee table. "She's only gonna get louder the longer you wait, you know."

Tony sighed and picked up a large, black, duffle-style bag from the floor at the end of the couch and slung it over a shoulder before heading for the bathroom. Once he was out of the room, Ziva asked, "Did you want some tea, as well?"

Jimmy groaned, "No. Thanks, though. All I really want right now is another five hours of sleep, but," he squinted at his wristwatch, "I'm only going to get another three as it is. Don't worry about being too noisy, my mom always said I could sleep through a marching band." He burrowed his head under one of the two fuzzy red throw pillows and faint snoring filtered through after only a couple of minutes.

Tony reappeared, looking a little nauseated, with the duffle and the baby, now wrapped in a plain white blanket, rather than the one with the bunnies printed on it. The watch-cap had likewise been replaced with one that was pale green. "That was worse than the body where I met McGee."

"How so?" Ziva asked.

Tony sat the duffle back on the floor between the couch and his recliner, but kept hold of the baby. "Well, what got us called out was someone left a body in a barrel of acid down at Norfolk. A couple of yard-workers accidentally dumped the barrel. All that was left of the body was a bunch of glopy slime, some skin and bones. McGee was the on-site agent there at the time – still so new he still squeaked when he moved – and I thought he was gonna ralph all over the crime scene first time I saw him. But that glopy slime _still_ wasn't as bad as what I just saw."

Ziva chuckled. "I can imagine. My neighbors have a three year-old, a pretty little child, but always sticky. I can only assume that the smaller the child, the sticker they are."

"Stickier," Tony auto-corrected, taking a seat on one of his bar-stools. "But I agree. All the little kids I've ever met have always been sticky."

The kettle began to whistle and Ziva moved it off the stove and turned off the burner. She poured water into two coffee mugs and added tea bags from a small turquoise-colored box. She handed Tony one of the mugs and slid his sugar bowl over before leaning against the counter. "It is green tea."

"I can tell," Tony replied, sniffing the contents of the mug. "With… Something citrus. Lemon? No…" he sniffed again. "Orange?"

"Close. Tangerine."

Tony added a couple of spoons of sugar to his mug. "Thanks," he said. "And thanks for the food. I'm sure I won't have much time to cook this week.

"No problem. Have you decided what you're going to do?"

Tony shook his head. "Nothing definitive yet. Ask me again later."

Ziva changed the subject, and the pair spent the better part of the next hour chatting about their favorite action movies. At six-thirty, Ziva excused herself to head to work. Three minutes after the door closed behind her, Tony climbed to his feet to put the baby back in the car seat and wake Jimmy by kicking the sofa.

"Better get a move on, Palmer. You'll be late."

After Jimmy headed in to work, Tony kicked back on his couch and debated turning on the TV, but decided against it. He had no idea if it would wake up his… the kid. He didn't notice when he fell asleep, but he couldn't help but notice when his cell phone rang about an hour and a half later.

Tony grabbed the phone off the corner of the coffee table. "DiNozzo."

"Good morning, Mr. DiNozzo – this is Liza Crawford. Leon Vance gave me your number. I understand you've got something of an… _issue_ on your hands."

Tony sat up straight, rather like any of the innumerable times he'd been slacking off at work only to have Gibbs suddenly show up. He let out a mirthless chuckle, "If by 'issue' you mean a one-night stand leaving a baby on my doorstep, then yeah. I suppose you could say that."

The woman on the other end of the line chose to ignore Tony's somewhat bitter reply. "If you are available, I would like to meet you in person to go over your options."

Tony sighed, "Yeah, I'm available. When and where, Ms. Crawford?"

"In situations like this, faster is better. I've got a court appearance in about an hour, should only take about thirty minutes or so, how about I drop by your place afterwards?"

Tony glanced at the clock on his phone before replying, "Sure. See you around eleven, then?"

"Certainly." She verified his address and they ended the call just as the baby began fussing for attention again.

Tony returned the cell to the increasingly-cluttered coffee table. "Aw, come on, girl. I need _sleep_," he grumbled while scooping the infant out of the carrier.

* * *

Jimmy managed to arrive moments before Dr. Mallard. While the pair were getting ready to start their day, Ducky asked, "How is Anthony doing, Mr. Palmer?"

Since the autopsy on Staff Sergeant Bryce McCall was finished, Jimmy grabbed the clipboard on which they kept track of the items they needed to place on their next requisition form and started going through the supply cabinets. "He's… Not good, by any stretch of the imagination, but… Dealing, I think."

Ducky smiled, "While not the best of news, it is still good news indeed, Mr. Palmer."

* * *

Liza Crawford reminded Tony very strongly of a grown-up version of the girl who played Ginny Weasley in the Harry Potter movies, only with truly carroty-orange hair instead of the darker red Bonnie Wright sported. Her eyes were a dark shade of blue that Tony suspected were the result of colored contacts and her hair was twisted up into a weird bun-like structure on the back of her head. She was wearing a black A-line skirt with gold pinstripes that reached just past her knees, a matching suit-jacket, and a gold-tone blouse that matched her low-slung heels almost precisely, with a pair of pearl studs in her earlobes, a string of small pearls around her neck, and a plain gold wedding band. The overall effect was sophisticated, classy, competent, and _expensive_.

"Please, come in," he said, stepping aside and ushering her into his apartment. "Excuse the mess. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Water would be appreciated, thank you," Liza replied, looking around the apartment with interest.

"Have a seat anywhere," Tony said, ducking into the kitchen.

Liza picked one of the bar stools and sat her briefcase on the counter. She opened it and retrieved a notebook and pen. While Tony retrieved a glass from the cupboard, ice from the freezer, and a bottle of Dasani from the cupboard under the sink, Liza scribbled down a few notes. "First things first, call me Liza."

"Tony," he replied, adding ice to the glass.

"Okay, Tony. I didn't get much in the way of details from Leon, just a basic explanation of the situation."

Tony sat the bottle of water and glass on the counter next to Liza's briefcase. He opened a second bottle and took a swig. "What sort of details do you need? I went to leave yesterday morning, around 0230, and found…" he gestured to the car seat sitting on the coffee table.

"In the car seat?" she asked.

Tony shook his head. "A laundry basket. Along with a couple of cheap towels."

Liza made a note. "Do you know who the mother is?"

"Sorta," Tony replied, running a hand through his hair.

The lawyer arched an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Well…" Tony hesitated.

The pause was long enough that Liza leveled a small smirk at him. "You don't know her name."

Tony shrugged, "Not her real name. Called herself Stardust. Picked her up down at Fantastique."

"I've heard of the place," Liza replied. "Have you tried to contact her?"

Tony shook his head. "Never got her number."

"Then how can you be sure it's her?"

He gave Liza a look that clearly said 'you've got to be kidding me'. "Seriously?"

Liza's smirk stayed firmly in place. She reached for the bottle of water Tony had provided and opened it. "To be honest, Tony, Leon has talked about you before, and not much of what he had to say was flattering."

Tony snorted, "No, I suppose it wouldn't be. How do you know Vance, anyway?"

"He's my brother," she explained. At Tony's skeptical expression, she clarified, "I'm adopted. Main reason I got into this job."

"Oh," Tony replied. He leaned against the counter and took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a huff. "Well… I can imagine the sort of stories Vance probably told you about me. I'm not exactly his favorite person."

Liza laughed a little, "I know. But Leon doesn't exactly hate you either, you know."

"Could've fooled me."

"Apparently, he did," Liza said. "His main problem with you is that he doesn't understand you – or, rather, he _didn__'__t_ understand you. Thought you didn't take the job seriously enough, and felt that a special agent shouldn't have the type of reputation you hold."

Tony shrugged in reply. "Can't argue with the reputation, I suppose, but I take my job _very_ seriously."

Liza's smirk morphed into a real smile, "He knows that _now_." She poured part of the bottle of water over the ice in her glass and replaced the lid. "However, we've managed to get completely off-topic. So, back to the task at hand." She took a sip of water and picked up her pen again. "How certain are you that this Stardust woman is the baby's mother?"

"A hundred percent, Liza."

"Why?"

Tony let out a dark laugh. "Before I answer that, is any of this going to get back to Vance?"

Liza shook her head, "Absolutely not. Unless you tell me otherwise, anything you tell me is protected by attorney-client privilege."

"That's a relief." Tony took another swig from his own water-bottle. "Well, reputation aside, it could only be her or Jessica Martins, and since Jess is a freckled redhead like you, it's pretty obvious."

Liza arched an eyebrow. "So your reputation is exaggerated?"

Tony shrugged again. "Didn't used to be. But I had this… Well, let's just call it a _really_ bad break-up and leave it at that."

"May I ask a question that doesn't have much to do with your current situation?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"How come you don't know Stardust's real name, but call Miss Martins by a nickname?"

Tony smiled a little. "Jess and me have been friends a long time," he explained. "We tried dating and it was a horrible, horrible disaster – one of those situations where we're _too_ much alike – but we can do the whole 'friends with benefits' thing." He sighed yet again. "Too bad this _didn__'__t _happen with her. It woulda made things a helluva lot easier."

"I imagine it would have," Liza agreed. "But since it didn't, we've got quite a bit to go over."

Tony nodded, "I know."

"Since you agreed to speak with me, and didn't immediately call Social Services, I assume that you're admitting to being the baby's father."

Tony nodded, "Yeah. Be a little hard to deny it – she looks like me."

"Even so, there are still several things which need doing, not the least of which is a paternity test. Courts are real big on having DNA evidence in cases like this."

"Got it covered," Tony replied. "The lab at work is gonna do the testing."

Liza noted the info on her notepad. "Okay. Up next, we really ought to see if there's any way to locate this Stardust woman."

Tony winced. "I can understand why, but…"

Liza's eyebrow arched back up to her hairline. "Are you or are you not a professional investigator?" The thought of having his team track down his one-night stand made Tony feel somewhat ill. The lawyer could almost read Tony's thoughts and her smirk made a reappearance. "If you don't want to find her yourself, I can have a PI look into it for you."

As uncomfortable as the thought of having his team look into his private life – _again_ – was, the thought of using a PI and _not_ his team made him break into a cold sweat. "No," Tony said. "Just… No."

"So, you'll be handling that." It wasn't a question. "I assume you also know you should take her to a pediatrician."

"Yeah. Ducky – Dr. Mallard – gave me the number of one of his colleagues. She's got an appointment for tomorrow morning."

Liza made another note. "That's good. And you said the baby showed up in a laundry basket?" Tony nodded. "So you borrowed the car seat?"

"Nope. Bought it and a bunch of other stuff yesterday morning."

"Still have the receipt?"

Tony nodded again. "Yeah. Think so."

"Good. Keep it and any others that you wind up with for any expenses concerning her."

"Why?"

"Helps to show financial responsibility. We'll also need a copy of your financials for the same reason."

"Wasn't expecting that," Tony admitted, "though I probably should have. Anything else I'll need?"

Liza nodded, "Well, not need so much as it would be helpful – at least one or two character statements."

"Why do we need all of this?"

"Because, regardless of what you decide to do, the very first step is to have you named as sole guardian of the kid. Courts are somewhat tetchy about awarding custody to a single father – archaic, sure, but it's still true – and we need you to make a good impression. Not that it wouldn't take much, what with how you found out about the baby."

"Oh," Tony replied.

"The two main strikes against you, at least as far as I can see right now, are your reputation and your job. The job, though, is two-sided – it can and will be argued that you work in a highly unpredictable and dangerous profession; alternatively, the fact that you work for the government in the capacity you do, it can be argued that it shows a dedicated and responsible mentality, reputation aside." She sipped from her water and continued, "Also, if your reputation has been… embellished or exaggerated, that would also work in our favor."

"Already said I earned my reputation, Liza."

"I know, but you also said it wasn't entirely accurate any longer."

Tony drained his bottle of water and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin next to the fridge. "This is gonna take a while, isn't it?"

"You were expecting anything else?"

Tony shook his head. "Didn't really know what to expect."

"Best make yourself comfortable, then. This is going to take a while."

Sighing again, Tony settled himself onto the second bar stool. "Okay – DNA test, doctor checkup, character statements, financial info – anything else?"

Liza smiled, not unkindly. "That's only the start, Tony."

* * *

Since Tony wasn't in, and Gibbs had disappeared into MTAC with the director to go over some intel regarding Staff Sergeant McCall's duties at the Pentagon, Ziva and Tim grabbed their lunches and headed down to Abby's lab.

"Lunch?" McGee shouted over the steady shrieking pulse coming from Abby's CD player.

Abby hit the volume on her remote and the music faded until it was little more than background noise. "Hey guys. Lunch."

The trio camped out at Abby's desk. Once sandwiches were unwrapped and drinks opened – or retrieved from the refrigerator, in Abby's case – all three started speaking simultaneously.

"I went to Tony's last night."

"So I dropped by DiNozzo's place."

"I took Tony some food this morning."

After a brief spate of laughter, and a round of 'after yous', Ziva spoke first. "I stopped by to drop off some food for Tony this morning. He seems to be doing well. Tired and… He seemed a little lost, but otherwise well."

"I agree," Abby replied. "He's been thrown into this situation that's way, way, way over and above anything else he's ever had to deal with before, but he's doing okay. I did see something I found really, really, really, really, really –"

"Abby!" Tim interrupted.

She continued as though she hadn't even heard him. "Really, really, really interesting!"

Her tone clued the other two in that it was more than just Abby being Abby – whatever she saw had the potential to be – ahem – _really_ juicy gossip. "What?" Both Tim and Ziva leaned in close, looking like nothing so much as a pair of high school kids.

"When I went over last night, I had to ask how come Tony called _Palmer_. Basically, Tony said it was an accident that he wound up calling him, because he'd just hit a button and send, and Palmer looked like someone'd just murdered his puppy until Tony went on to say how he was happy that he'd wound up calling Palmer and if he'd been thinking instead of panicking, he woulda chose to call Palmer to begin with, then Palmer perked right up. I think our Autopsy Gremlin has a _crush_."

Ziva's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Wasn't he involved with Michelle Lee?"

Tim looked somewhat speculative. "Maybe he's bi, Ziva – he likes both. I went by Tony's last night, too," his eyes darted back and forth between Abby and Ziva. "Missed you," he said to Abby, "by about half an hour. But even though I wasn't there very long… Well, Tony was being an ass, like normal, but Palmer was there, too, and told him to quit being an asshole."

"So?" Ziva said.

"So…" Tim leaned a little closer to both women, almost like he was about to pass along national secrets and not gossip. "Tony actually _did_ what Palmer said."

Confusion became even more apparent on Ziva's place. "He _what_?"

"Tony actually quit being an asshole because Palmer told him to."

Abby made a noise that Tim was pretty sure that only dogs should be able to hear. "Aww! Tony said they were friends, _best __friends_ – his words, not mine – and according to Gloria, that's always a good place to start. She and Dad were high school best buds, they didn't even start dating until they were almost thirty, and…" She trailed off as she caught sight of Gibbs striding through the main door to her lab. "Gibbs alert."

"I sure hope this is case-related," Gibbs growled, causing both Ziva and Tim to guiltily grab their lunches and retreat back to the bullpen.

* * *

Jimmy unlocked the door to Tony's apartment and let himself in, leaving his sneakers near the door to the closet. He started to head for the couch, but came to a dead stop. Tony was already stretched out on the sofa, a thick notebook balanced precariously on his chest, with one arm curled up and covering his eyes while the other arm hung off the couch. The television, tuned to ESPN, was on mute. But that wasn't what had made Jimmy stop so suddenly.

No, Tony's hand, the one belonging to the arm dangling off the sofa, was resting on the blanket-wrapped baby in the car seat. The infant was awake, and sucking enthusiastically on Tony's pinky, while maintaining a white-knuckled grip on his ring finger.

The quiet _click-schink_ noise his camera phone made didn't even make Tony twitch.

* * *

**A/N2:** I've not noticed an existing portmanteau for the Jimmy/Tony 'ship – is there one? If not, I nominate PalNozzo. Who's with me?

Last chapter for a while – I go back to work on Saturday. However, with that said, the next update, whenever it happens, will likely be multiple chapters.

Remember to lemme know what y'all think!

**Edit 12/01/2011:** Caught and killed a typo.


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** I hate winter.

* * *

**When it Rains**

It was relatively easy to track down Staff Sergeant Bryce McCall's killer – an old rival from his days in basic training had spotted McCall, and took the opportunity presented to exact revenge for a stolen girlfriend with the only flexible item at hand, his spare bicycle chain. Unfortunately, the team was unable to arrest former Petty Officer Alan Keegan, as the man had realized what he'd done and suicided by dropping a running hair-dryer into his bathwater. He'd even left a note, confessing to McCall's murder.

With all the loose ends neatly tied off, and the perpetrator beyond any justice they could administer, Gibbs let the team head home, though he seriously doubted that would be where they ended up. It was only four in the afternoon, after all. Palmer and Ducky were still wrapping up the autopsy on Keegan – which shouldn't take them too much longer – but Abby had already ran the blood work and confirmed that the man had been completely sloshed – his BAC was 0.15% – and hadn't been taking the anti-psychotics or anti-depressants found in his medicine chest.

He finished his own paperwork for the case by five, and rather than address any of the myriad additional forms that were inherent with government employment, he decided to call it an early night as well, and headed for the parking garage. As he pulled his pickup out of the garage, he headed for Brewster's, the small pub within walking distance of the Navy Yard. As he had assumed, Tim's Porsche, Ziva's Mini, and Abby's bright red hot rod were parked in the pub's lot. He found a space at the end of the row and headed inside.

All three were seated in their 'usual' positions at the bar, sharing a pitcher of beer and chatting. He was about to go join them when he overheard Tim say something completely unexpected. "So, Tony and _Palmer_? Always did think Tony's razzing on me about being gay was a cover – no one deflects that hard unless they've got something to hide."

Gibbs faded into the shadows cast by a half-wall room divider and a hanging plant. _What?_ There was a tiny table in the nook, and he sat himself down. For all that the team was less than six feet away, they didn't notice him – yet the bartender did, and sent a waitress around for his order. He ordered a plate of nachos and a bottle of beer, keeping his ears on his team while doing so.

"We do not know if what we are assuming is, indeed, a fact," Ziva said. "But I think that if it is, they would be good for each other."

McGee laughed, "Yeah – they deserve each other." There was the distinctive sound of Abby's chains rattling, followed quickly by a soft _smack_. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Would you really wish Tony on poor, defenseless Jimmy?" Abby asked. Even though Gibbs couldn't see her face, he could imagine that her expression was similar to the one she wore when defending the dog that'd gnawed on Tim a while back.

"Hah!" Tim retorted. "Shouldn't that be the other way around? You two didn't see what I did – Palmer's got a backbone under all that stuttering and fumbling and bumbling. Who else can get away with ordering Tony to do something that he actually _does_?"

Without missing a beat, both Ziva and Abby replied with, "Gibbs."

"Yeah," McGee sounded like it was a given. _Do they not remember or do they just not notice all the times DiNozzo doesn't follow my orders?_ "But, other than the boss, is there anyone else Tony listens to?"

"He listens to me," Abby said, then hedged, "sometimes."

"And me as well, but usually only if some sort of threat involving office supplies is used." Gibbs had to smile at that – he'd begun counting how often Ziva had threatened Tony with some sort of bodily harm, just in his hearing range, but gave up when the count had broached three hundred after Ziva had only been with them for a little less than a month.

"See what I mean? Why would Tony do something Palmer said to – in his own home, no less – if they were _just_ friends?" Tim continued to argue his point. "I mean, the three of us count ourselves as Tony's friends, right?" Noises of assent came from both of the girls. "But none of us can say – with a hundred percent certainty – that Tony'd do something we said to do." McGee let out a small laugh. "Hell, he'd be more likely to do exactly the opposite of what we asked, just to rile us up." Both of the ladies echoed Tim's laugh.

"We are still assuming too much," Ziva said, then sighed.

Realizing that the three members of his team at the bar were talking themselves in circles, Gibbs decided not to interrupt – listening to them was proving entertaining. He waited for his nachos, but didn't linger. He ate quickly and was gone long before his team even realized he'd been there.

Once home, he headed for his basement and set to putting the finishing touches on the last few toys he'd been in the middle of making up for the Toys for Tots program. While varnishing and sanding and painting, he let his mind wander over the new bits of information he'd gleaned by his earlier eavesdropping.

_DiNozzo and Palmer, huh? _The thought didn't surprise him as much as it did his team; unlike them, he'd long ago learned to ignore ninety percent of what his SFA _said_ and to focus more on what he _did_. The fact that Tony was just as likely to leer at a handsome man as a pretty woman was something Gibbs had known since shortly after meeting the then-detective in Baltimore, even if Tony wasn't aware that Gibbs knew. No, it wasn't the fact that Tony might possibly be attracted to and/or dating Palmer that gave Gibbs cause to pause. No, not that. It was more the fact that, of all the men in the DC area, it was _Jimmy Palmer_, the stuttering, stammering, awkward ME's assistant. _What would Tony see in the kid?_ Gibbs wondered, then remembered how Palmer had seemed to reach the end of his rope and snapped at him, actually outright yelling at one point, but seeing as how it had taken years to get the kid to the point he'd stand up to him… Gibbs sighed and shook his head, acknowledging the fact that there were some things he would just never truly understand.

* * *

After tucking his cell phone back into a pocket, Jimmy quietly padded into the kitchen and set to examining what Ziva had brought over that morning. Some of the dishes he didn't recognize, but there was a pan of lasagna that had reheating instructions secured to it between the layers of cellophane in which it was wrapped. Jimmy followed the directions, somewhat amused that Ziva had 'remove plastic wrap' as number one on the list. _There's gotta be a story behind the why on that one._ Once it was warming in the oven, Jimmy dug back into the fridge and came up with a bag of mixed carrot sticks, celery, and fresh broccoli. By the time the lasagna was hot, the fresh veggies rinsed and put on a plate, and a small loaf of French bread converted to garlic toast, Tony was awake.

"Supper's ready," Jimmy said on seeing Tony now somewhat alert.

"What is it?"

"Lasagna, some veggies, and garlic toast."

"Sounds good," Tony replied, slowly stretching, reclaiming his hand from the baby in the process. "I think I have a bottle of red that would go well with it – check the rack."

For all that their childhoods were about as different as they could possibly be, one of the few bits they had in common on that front was that dinner was supposed to be served with wine. Granted, when in the middle of a case, and 'dinner' consisted of take-out or whatever could be scrounged from the vending machines, wine wasn't a possibility, but when having a real meal, be it at a restaurant or at home, wine was always on offer (even if no one did more than sip at it). Jimmy quickly located the bottle he knew Tony was talking about – an Austi Sputi Bordeaux – and hunted down the corkscrew while Tony finished setting out glasses and silverware on the breakfast bar. He didn't own a dining table, unless he counted the wrought-iron on his balcony, and it was either eat at the bar or on the sofa, and lasagna just isn't the kind of food one should eat in front of the television.

"How was work?" Tony asked while Jimmy retrieved the last of the food and placed it on the bar.

"Not too bad – they 'caught', so-to-speak, the guy who killed McCall," Jimmy replied.

"Huh?" Tony selected a handful of carrots and broccoli from the serving tray and added them to his plate.

"Oh, the guy'd already died on them – he dropped a hair dryer in his bathwater. Left a confessional note and everything," Jimmy dished out portions of the pasta for them both. "Apparently, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing over an old grudge about a stolen girlfriend."

Tony sighed and added garlic toast to both of their plates. "Nothing ever changes. Kinda figured it was gonna be something like that. It's always either love or money. I can count on one hand the number of investigations we've had that _weren't_ about one or the other."

Jimmy, caught up in remembering one such investigation involving his ex-girlfriend – Lee – which covered both love _and _money, and could only nod in agreement while pouring the wine. "How about you? How was your day?"

Tony shrugged, "Busier than I figured a day at home could be. I tried to nap, but the lawyer Vance recommended called, and then came over." He smiled and took a quick bite of the lasagna. Savoring the flavor for a moment, he then swallowed and continued, "She's Vance's adopted sister – her name's Liza Crawford – and seems to really know her stuff. I can honestly say I'm glad for her help, but I'm dreading seeing her bill; she seems on the expensive side."

"How about her?" Jimmy made a gesture towards the baby, frowning a little. "You know, you really ought to think about a name for her."

Tony ignored the comment about names and shrugged again. "She ate, she slept, she manufactured some of the worst-smelling foulness ever to come out of a human being. She's what, a couple of days old? It's not like she's going to be up and doing much else."

Jimmy chuckled a little at Tony's description. "You say that _now_, but just you wait and see –"

"There's nothing to 'wait and see' about!" Tony interrupted, suddenly a little angry. "I'm not gonna keep her – thought you knew that."

Jimmy gave Tony an apologetic little nod, but was smirking inwardly. _You might say that. You might even think that. But I know you better, Tony. You're already too attached to let her go and anyone who sees you with her will agree with me._ Tony simply scowled and bit viciously into his toast. Jimmy was suddenly struck by the… _domesticity_ of their shared meal. He sighed and echoed Tony's viciousness on a piece of celery. _Dream on, Palmer. Never gonna happen and you know it._

The remainder of their dinner conversation focused on sports and work – neither man really wanted, nor did they particularly need, an argument right then. And for only being a couple of days old, the baby seemed to have impeccable timing, at least for one evening; she waited until the dishes were in the sink before demanding, rather loudly, her own supper.

* * *

Wednesday dawned clear and colder than was normal for the time of year, but since it had already snowed, perhaps it should have been expected. The baby had managed a full four-hour stretch of solid sleep, but it did no good for Tony. He'd already become accustomed to hearing her whimper or gurgle or outright scream every two hours, and his eyes had snapped open of their own accord at a quarter-past three in the morning. He didn't know why he'd woken up, even though most new parents could have told him it was normal, and was further confused (inasmuch as was possible in his state of sleep-deprivation) by the fact that he couldn't get back to sleep until he'd checked on the girl. Tony had a blurry memory of Jimmy leaving for work with a stern demand to call if he needed anything, which Tony didn't really need – if he needed help, he already knew who to call.

Sipping from a mug of coffee, trying desperately to get all his brain cells up and running for the day, Tony was struck with a sudden, nearly choking, sensation of gratefulness that of all the people he could have called about his latest bit of drama, Jimmy was the one who he'd wound up contacting. Even if Tim or Ziva'd had the same amount of experience with little kids that Jimmy had, Tony would have hesitated to call either of them – he liked his team, hell, he loved them like family, but they all had a habit of teasing each other mercilessly, and the last thing he needed right now was someone who'd laugh at him for not knowing how to change a diaper (even though that particular skill had been, by necessity, rapidly learned).

By the time he'd finished his coffee, most of his brain was working. A glance at the clock on his microwave indicated that the appointment with the pediatrician was rapidly approaching. If traffic cooperated, he might just squeak by with being on-time.

Of course, traffic didn't cooperate, and neither did the baby. Since it was cold out, Tony bundled her up in several layers, and then cranked the heat up in his car on the ride over. She started crying, a sound less pissed-off than when she needed changed, but more irritated than when she was hungry, about halfway to the doctor's office.

Since Tony had made a newbie mistake when installing the car seat, he wasn't able to do much, other than talk to her, but that just seemed to irritate the baby further – the car seat was directly behind the driver's. Tony blamed the unthinking mistake on lack of sleep.

They were ten minutes late to the doctor, and the seeds of a truly epic headache started sprouting in the back of Tony's mind. Tony parked next to a five year-old Saturn and climbed out of the car, rubbing a hand across the tension at the back of his neck, hoping that would serve to sever the headache before it could blossom. A tired, but still pretty, woman with long, dark hair and a sky-blue coat, got out of the Saturn. She smiled a greeting at Tony before heading around to the passenger side of her car to retrieve a curly-haired toddler in jeans and a tiny blue winter coat that matched his mother's. Tony couldn't even bring himself to smile back at her.

Wrestling with the car seat and diaper bag meant they were another five minutes late checking in with the moments-from-retirement receptionist wearing a sweatshirt printed with a Thanksgiving turkey holding up a sign that said _This year, try ham_. Of course, the very first step was filling out paperwork, but the baby was still crying, and was it Tony's imagination, or did that sound honestly _whiny_? No, he had to be imagining things. _Hope she isn't getting sick. Just my luck, though, if she was – parent for less than two whole days and she gets sick… At least we're already at the doctor's. Maybe I shoulda just called CPS and had done with it. Sure, Gibbs woulda fired me when he found out, but… Please, girl, shush – I have to fill in the insurance stuff. I hate this part of doctors more than the actual visits themselves. Quiet, please._

"She's probably too warm," the driver of the Saturn said. Since the baby was wearing the pink watch-cap, it didn't surprise Tony any that she'd correctly identified the baby as a 'she'.

The thought hadn't even his mind. Tony forced his eyes to focus on his… The baby, and had to admit that he just _might_ have gone a little overboard. She was wearing, from innermost layer to outermost: a diaper, _two _pairs of teeny socks, a newborn t-shirt, a long-sleeved shirtlike thing with built-in mittens, a pair of miniscule slacks, a snap-up thing with long sleeves and feet, and the last two clean baby blankets, in addition to her tiny watch-cap. He grimaced a little, "Yeah, probably." He sat the paperwork for the clinic aside for a moment, and got the baby's layers down to something a little less… arctic. Her crying quieted with each layer removed, until she was simply hiccoughing in her cap, t-shirt, slacks, diaper, and single pair of socks. "Thanks," he directed to the woman as she and her son were called back to an exam room.

"No problem," she replied before disappearing behind the door to the rest of the clinic.

With the crying stopped, Tony was able to focus on the paperwork, and quickly had it filled out and returned to the receptionist. A woman with three children, all under the age of five, arrived just before the nurse stepped out and called, "DiNozzo." As the new arrivals were anything but quiet, Tony was glad he didn't have to linger in their presence any longer than it took to cross the length of the toy-strewn waiting area.

The nurse was about twenty years younger than the receptionist – likely within a year or two of Tony's own age – and rather plain, with mousy features and hair that weird shade that was too light to be brown and too dark to be blonde. She wore traditional white scrubs, but her lab-jacket was covered with Dr. Seuss characters, specifically 'Thing One' and 'Thing Two' from The Cat in the Hat. She made polite chitchat which Tony ignored completely while she took the baby's temperature, weighed her, and measured her.

Eventually, the nurse left and the doctor showed up, looking like he'd just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell print. He did many of the same things the nurse had, but also drew a blood sample. He also was a bit more aware of the anxiousness (and Tony likely would have hit the old man if he'd heard it called that – Tony didn't _do_ 'anxious') that newbie parents faced and helped alleviate that by narrating what he was doing and why – he also confirmed that the baby wasn't more than four days old and got the paperwork together to have a birth certificate readied. He told Tony he would hold off on filing it for a few weeks, to give Tony the chance to track down the mother's name. Eventually, the exam came to a close. Dr. Blair asked if Tony had any questions.

It was a credit to the good doctor's people skills that had Tony admitting, "God, where do I _start_?"

Dr. Blair, familiar with the story behind how his latest patient had come to be, chuckled lightly. "I won't even begin to guess how you must be feeling right now, most of my new patients' parents have had at least a couple of months to get used to the idea before suddenly being thrust into this." The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "However, when my receptionist, Martha, told me about your situation, I took the liberty of getting together a list of resources I think you might want to look into. Of course, I'll still be happy to answer any questions you might have, but I thought you might want a way to answer your own questions later."

Tony took the paper without looking at it. "Thanks, doc," he said. He tucked the slip into his own pocket. "This'll be helpful, I'm sure. But I do have a question for right now, though."

"What would that be?"

"Am I losing my mind, or does her crying sound different when she's hungry than when she needs clean clothes?"

The doctor laughed outright. "No, you're not going nuts. Most parents can tell the different tones to their babies' cries, even though it all sounds like unspecified crying to the rest of us."

Feeling slightly better about his own mental state, and reassured that his girl was healthy and relatively happy, he wrestled the car seat and diaper bag back into his car – this time making sure that the baby was secured to the middle seat belt of his back seat, well within arm-reach and, if he tipped his rear-view down just a bit, within line-of-sight, as well. He started the car, shifted into first, and pulled back into traffic, heading towards work.

On reaching the Yard, he pulled around to park next to Ducky's Morgan, and went in through the back door. The last thing he really needed was a bunch of idiotic questions from people he barely knew. Pausing at the iris scanner, grateful that the door was automatic as both his hands were full, he then made his way down the hallway to Abby's lab.

The music thundering out into the hallway let him know she was in, and apparently the baby shared Abby's questionable taste in music, because she _didn't_ start wailing. In fact, she seemed to be asleep. _How can you sleep through this, girl?_ Tony peeked around the door and saw that Abby was messing around with the settings on a photograph displayed both on her main computer screen and on the plasma hanging on the wall. He snuck up behind her and leaned close to her ear, "Did the team catch another case already?"

Abby jumped, whirled around fast enough she made _Tony_ dizzy, and grinned brightly. "Tony!" she squealed, throwing herself on him with a bear hug strong enough to steal his breath.

"Abby, can't breathe," Tony groaned out.

She let him go and grabbed her stereo remote to turn down the music. "You look tired," she accused.

"Well, yeah. I think I only got about five hours sleep over the last three days."

She frowned. "And just what do you think you're doing in here, mister?" she punctuated her question by repeatedly poking Tony's chest. "Go home and sleep."

Tony snorted, "Sure, Abs. I'll do that. But first, I still need the paternity test for the lawyer."

"Oh," Abby replied, a little chagrined. "I can do that, sure, but I promised Cassie I'd have this photo finished for her by three. How about you stretch out on the futon and catch a few zees while I finish this up? I'll keep an eye on her for you."

A feeling of relief washed through Tony. "Would you?" Abby nodded enthusiastically, making her pigtails sway. Tony thrust the diaper-duffle at her and sat the car seat on the steel table behind Abby's primary workstation. "Call Jimmy if you need help," he said, already half-asleep. Later, he couldn't say with certainty that he'd made it as far as the futon before passing out, DiNozzo rules be damned.

Several hours later, Tony's eyes pried themselves open. The headache that had been building had dissipated. He sat up, stretched, and scrubbed a hand across his face, wincing a little at the rasp of nearly three days' worth of stubble. It was the longest he'd ever gone without shaving. He also felt grimy, and hoped that Jimmy would be staying over again – he desperately needed a shower.

The faint sound of crying filtered into his brain and Tony's train of thought derailed as he quickly stood and strode over to the glass door to the main portion of Abby's lab. The door beeped and slid open, directly resulting in a major increase in volume. _She's not hungry, she doesn't need a new diaper… This is the same irritated, whiny cry that she was using at the doctor's this morning._ Abby, looking unaccountably frazzled, was holding the infant with one arm and trying to interest her in a bottle with her other hand.

"She's not hungry, Abs," Tony said. "She's pissed off about something."

Abby looked up at Tony with round eyes, "At least I know why you looked so _tired_. I've only had her for four hours and _I'm _tired!" Tony walked over and took the baby from her. "How do people _do_ this for months and months at a time? It's a wonder anyone ever has more than one kid!"

Tony had to chuckle as he lifted the baby to his shoulder. Her crying slowly faded as he paced around the lab. "Yeah, I agree," he said, though a small voice at the back of his mind couldn't help but point out that even he thought she was adorable when she wasn't crying.

Unnoticed by either Tony or Abby, Gibbs was lurking just out-of-sight, watching silently around the doorway. He smiled to himself. _Better start thinking about moving, Tony. You might not know it yet, but you're keeping her._ He waited until both Abby's and Tony's attention was elsewhere before slipping into the lab and leaving Abby's Caf-Pow on her computer stand. He figured it would be about an hour or so before she noticed the refill.

* * *

**A/N2:** Bad news: The truck broke down and left us stranded in Cheyenne, Wyoming for Christmas. Good news: Update for the story!

Remember to review!


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Hopefully, this will tide y'all over until I get another chance at an internet connection! Happy reading!

* * *

**When it Rains**

Once all the reports were completed regarding the McCall case, the DiNozzo-less team was shuffled over to reviewing cold cases for the time-being. As a direct result of that, for the second day running, Gibbs released them long before their normal quitting time of oh-dark-thirty – this time, he sent them off at 1700. It had little to do with how much work they were doing and much to do with the fact that, with the toys all completed for Christmas, Gibbs now had a new major project to complete – and relatively quickly, at that. After Tim and Ziva had gone, Gibbs headed up to Vance's office and told the director he was taking the rest of the week off. He further recommended that, if McGee and Ziva didn't also want a mini-vacation (payment in advance for having to work Thanksgiving weekend), then they were free to be loaned out to other teams until the following Monday.

Knowing how Team Gibbs tended to close ranks like a wagon train who'd spotted bandits during any sort of emergency, Vance only made a token protest. He was just grateful that this time, the reason behind the team's circling was a relatively happy one – no one was in the hospital and no one was being accused of murder or treason.

After leaving work, Gibbs headed home, where he exchanged his Challenger for his pickup truck, before heading to the lumber yard. Two hours and nearly three hundred dollars later, Gibbs returned to his house and hauled his new purchases down to the basement. The plans he was going to use were still in the drawer on his workbench, underneath a photo of his girls. He paused a moment, running a fingertip lightly over the photo. _I think you would both like Tony. If you guys are out there, if you've got any pull at all, could you make sure that… Well, that what happened to me with you two doesn't happen with Tony? _He lingered only a moment longer, almost as though waiting for a reply, before he pulled the yellowed drawings out from underneath the photo.

Sorting through the pages, he sat aside the couple of pieces he still had time to work on, before turning his attention to the main three he wanted done ASAP.

While cutting the pieces he needed for the first item, he wondered what he'd done with Shannon's sewing machine – and once he found it, he further wondered whether or not he still recalled how to use the damn thing. Maybe he should just hire someone for that part… _Doesn't Mrs. Johnson sew?_ He made a mental note to ask her the next time he saw her.

As often happened when working in his basement hideaway, Gibbs quickly lost track of time, even though the bottle of bourbon remained untouched. The sound of footsteps above him pulled him out of his trancelike state, however. He smirked a little, but remained where he was. His guest – if, after nine years of unannounced visits, crashing on the couch, and shared meals, the man could even really be considered a 'guest' any longer – paused at door for a long minute before it creaked open and the footsteps slowly descended the stairs.

"Evening, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, not even looking up from the wood he was carving.

"Hey, Boss," Tony replied. His voice indicated he'd reached the bottom couple of stairs before giving up and sitting down. The sound of plastic meeting concrete indicated he'd sat down the baby's car seat. "Balboa caught a triple-homicide – Ducky and Palmer are going to be busy most of the night. Didn't much feel like going home to an empty apartment. Hope you don't mind I came over."

Gibbs sat the chisel down and looked up at his second. "Nope. Don't mind. Was actually expecting you yesterday."

Tony gave him a lopsided smile. "Am I getting that predictable?"

Gibbs shook his head, "No. I just know you."

Tony looked nearly as tired as he did just after returning to work following his brush with the damn plague. Gibbs brushed wood shavings off his shirt and stepped around the makeshift plywood-and-sawhorse table he was using to support his latest project. "How about you head up, crash on the sofa. I'll watch her for you."

Tony looked from his boss to the car seat at his feet and back. He knew Gibbs' suggestion was _not_ a request. It didn't stop him from stalling, though. "You sure?"

Gibbs merely leveled a look at Tony.

"Yeah… I really should know better than to ask, shouldn't I?"

"Yep."

Tony slowly stood. "Thanks, Boss."

"Go," Gibbs replied. "Sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours."

Leaving the duffle which held all the baby things with Gibbs, Tony reluctantly climbed back up the stairs and his footsteps told Gibbs he headed directly for the sofa. Gibbs turned his attention to the baby once his SFA's needs had been addressed. He picked up the carrier and sat it on the makeshift tabletop. She was sleeping soundly. "You really do look a lot like your dad, you know," he murmured, picking his chisel back up and returning to the carving he was working on.

Between tending the baby and working on his project, midnight came and went unnoticed. In fact, it was nearing three in the morning before new footsteps sounded on the floor above their heads. Gibbs checked his watch and grimaced at the time. He'd meant to wake Tony for something to eat at eleven at the latest. _Missing a meal won't hurt him, though_. He narrowed his eyes and cocked an ear up at the ceiling. _That's not Tony – he's still on the couch. Not Ziva, too heavy. Not Tim, either. _It took a moment, but when the footsteps halted in his living room for several minutes before heading towards the kitchen and the door to the basement, Gibbs realized who was in his house.

"Come on down, Palmer," he called up the stairs, knowing that nothing short of a nuclear blast would wake Tony at this point. The baby was already awake, and his almost-shout seemingly went unnoticed by her.

Palmer wasn't even fully through the door before he began apologizing, "Sorry for bugging you at home, but I went to Tony's place first and no one was there. I tried calling Tony's cell, but I don't think he's charged it since she showed up, but I knew he'd either be here or at the bar, and since I doubt he'd take her with him to the bar, that left here, and really, I'm sorry for bugging you at home." He got to the bottom step, then abruptly turned and started back up the stairs. "You know, I'll just head back. It's not like Tony'll need my help if he's here and –"

"Palmer," Gibbs stated, then changed his mind. "Jimmy – quit babbling and take a seat." He gestured to a rickety-looking stool in the corner by the stairs. It was almost amusing how Palmer did a second about-face and nearly tripped over his own feet while scrambling to the aforementioned stool. Once he was safely seated and no longer in danger of causing himself physical damage, Gibbs sighed mentally. _This is the guy the team thinks Tony's fallen for, huh? I suppose it could be worse. At least I know Palmer has a brain somewhere in that skull of his._

"Agent Gibbs?" Palmer asked, obviously so very out of his element that he hardly looked like he could remember how to breathe.

Gibbs shook his head, "Not an agent here, Jimmy. Just Gibbs."

"Did you need something?" he asked, still very ill-at-ease.

Gibbs nodded, "Yeah. Wanted to say thanks for being there for DiNozzo the last couple of days. I understand why he didn't call me – I know I have a blind spot where kids are concerned. Tony didn't need that – he needed someone who'd support whatever decision he makes without making him feel like a total asshole for deciding not to keep the baby."

Jimmy went to open his mouth, surprise and pleasure at the praise clear on his face, but Gibbs held up a hand. "But," he said, "I saw how he was today in Abby's lab. He might not be aware of it yet, but he's keeping her."

Jimmy smiled and relaxed a little. "I know," he said. "I don't think he's going to realize it unless someone points it out to him, though – either that, or he simply won't be able to sign the paperwork."

_Maybe I was wrong about Palmer. He's more observant than I gave him credit for – at least as far as Tony's concerned. I wonder how long he's been watching Tony to know him that well?_ Gibbs smirked mentally. "So how long have you been crushing on my Senior Field Agent?"

Without thinking, Palmer replied, "Since the day I met him." Once the words had left his mouth, he turned bright red and buried his face in his hands. "Can you forget I said that?"

"No way," Gibbs replied. On seeing Jimmy's panic at that, Gibbs added, "But I won't say anything to him, either."

"Thanks," Jimmy sighed, slumping on the stool. "I mean, we're friends, and I really don't have enough of those to want to screw this up."

Gibbs shook his head a little, "You never know, though. He just might feel the same way."

The look Palmer leveled at Gibbs portrayed a host of conflicting emotions, primary among them were skepticism and confusion. "But…"

"Yeah, I know Tony swings both ways, but I'm sure you knew that already. Yes, I was pissed as hell when I found out about your affair with Lee, but what made me angry about that wasn't that you were dating her, it was that you couldn't keep it out of work. If you can guarantee me that, should you and Tony start something, it'll stay out of the office, I won't have a problem with it."

At that, Palmer looked as though he was going to need outside assistance in closing his mouth. Gibbs very nearly laughed at the poor kid, but managed to contain himself. "Why don't you find a spot to sleep upstairs?" he suggested. "You look almost as tired as DiNozzo did when he got here."

Apparently, Gibbs had managed to short-circuit Palmer's brain. He automatically got to his feet and padded up the stairs, so lost in his own head that Gibbs doubted anything short of gunfire would bring him back to the here-and-now. "You know," he murmured to the baby, "I'm pretty sure you're going to wind up with two dads. Just remember that if you ever need a break from them, my door's always open."

Laughing silently, Gibbs returned to his woodwork.

The grey light of dawn was filtering through the dusty windows to his basement sanctuary when Gibbs decided a break was in order. He surveyed the work he'd gotten done and smiled. The first of the three pieces was nearly finished – it needed to sit for a day for the glue to set, then a final sanding, and then it could be varnished. Of course, it still needed the pad and whatnot, but he was pretty sure Mrs. Johnson down the street would be happy to do that bit for him for a few bucks.

He gathered up the baby, leaving the car carrier and diaper bag where they sat, and headed up the stairs. He paused in the kitchen to one-handedly make a pot of coffee before going to the living room. He stopped in the archway between the two rooms. Palmer had found a spot on the floor, stealing one of the sofa cushions for a pillow, and was snoring faintly. That wasn't what had Gibbs stopping and staring, though. Tony was awake, though unaware he was being watched, and was in turn watching Palmer sleep with a small, reflexive smile on his face. When a beep issued from the vicinity of Jimmy's wrist, Tony reached out and shook Palmer's shoulder.

"Hey, Jimmy, time to wake up."

Palmer mumbled something and buried his head under the cushion.

"Come on, man, you have to take your insulin. You can go back to sleep after – I'll even let you have the couch."

Palmer unburied his head and reached for his backpack and withdrew a small black zipper case. He used a little blue thing to stab his finger, but didn't wince. The blood droplet was sucked into what looked like a little paper strip and inserted into a black box. About a minute later, the box beeped, and Jimmy then exchanged the box for what looked a lot like an epi-pen. He twisted the bottom of it, tore open an alcohol wipe, and then used the wipe to clean a spot on his stomach before jabbing the syringe into the spot. Gibbs could tell that this was something he'd done so many times it was now automatic.

As promised, once the zipper case was put away, Tony climbed to his feet and surrendered the couch to Jimmy. Gibbs faded back into the kitchen. Wishing he'd brought up the car seat, he one-handedly opened the cupboard where he kept the cereal and pulled out the box of sugary crap Tony kept at his place. He'd just retrieved the loaf of bread from the fridge when Tony's footsteps entered the kitchen.

"Morning, Boss," Tony said, helping himself to the bowls in the cabinet over the sink.

"Sleep well?"

"Yeah. Thanks," he replied. Gibbs knew he wasn't thanking the inquiry. "If you give me a minute to eat something, I'll take her."

"Take your time," Gibbs said. _I don't think he's aware of it,_ he thought. _He's not just going to keep the baby, but he's as head-over-heels for Palmer as Palmer is for him. _He sighed silently. _When did I step into a damn soap opera?_ He patiently waited until Tony had wolfed down a bowl of cereal and four slices of buttered toast before breaking the comfortable silence of his kitchen. "You think of a name for her yet?"

"What?"

"For your daughter, DiNozzo. Can't keep calling her 'the baby' or 'girl' all the time."

Had Tony still been eating, Gibbs was sure that the Heimlich maneuver would have been needed. "What?" Tony repeated.

"A name, Tony."

Tony sputtered, not quite making any actual words. Had the situation not been so serious, Gibbs really would have laughed. DiNozzo realized what he was doing and stopped. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly. "Isn't that something her parents should do?"

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow at Tony. "And just what would you call yourself?"

Tony winced. "I meant her _real_ parents – the ones who'll raise her."

"So you've decided you're not going to keep her," it wasn't a question. "Fine," Gibbs said, knowing what he was about to do really was bastardly, but he also knew that being nice to DiNozzo tended to freak him out. "Where do I sign?"

Tony's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for several heartbeats before another "_What?_" squeaked out.

Gibbs blinked at him and called up every iota of skill he had in schooling his expression to show deadly seriousness. "I said, where do I sign? If you're serious, then so am I."

Tony all but sprang to his feet. "Boss… You _can't_ be serious!"

"Why not, DiNozzo? She's better-behaved than any offspring of yours has a right to be and pretty, too." Even though he'd be yelling in other circumstances, Gibbs took care to keep his voice's volume well under control. He could see that his words were actually making an impression. Tony crossed the distance between the table and where Gibbs stood next to the sink in three long strides. He reached for the baby, glaring daggers at his boss. Gibbs turned a little. "You still haven't answered me, Tony. Why not?"

"Because she's mine, damnit!" Tony yelled. It startled the baby, making her cry, but Gibbs handed her to Tony without any further fuss.

Tony cuddled her and soothed her, glaring at Gibbs all the while. "God, you really are a bastard, you know."

Gibbs finally released the serious expression and smiled. "Yeah, but it works." Once the baby had calmed down – and Tony, too, for that matter – Gibbs asked again, "So, names?"

Tony let out a helpless chuckle and sank back onto the kitchen chair. "Hell if I know," he said. "Didn't know I was keeping her," he glanced up at Gibbs. "How did you know I was gonna keep her?"

"Saw you with her down in Abby's lab yesterday. Palmer's even noticed you're too attached to her to let her go now, but I doubt he would have been able to make you see it."

Tony chuckled again, "Guess I can be pretty blind to myself every now and then, huh?"

"Ya think, DiNozzo?" _And this isn't even touching on the thing you've got for Palmer. However, on that one, you're on your own. I already did my good deed for the week._

* * *

Tony and Jimmy headed out at about seven – Jimmy to work and DiNozzo back home. Neither commented or even seemed to notice that Gibbs hadn't gotten ready for work himself. In truth, neither _had_ noticed. Tony was busy trying to figure out just where his life had derailed, and Jimmy was mulling over his conversation with Gibbs from the night before.

Tony unlocked his apartment and sighed, looking around the space with a critical eye. "If you're staying," he spoke to the blanket-wrapped bundle buckled into the car seat he carried, "then I'm going to need to remodel. I wonder how much, exactly, I've got in the maintenance fund for this heap of brick? If there's enough, I'll see about replacing the elevator while I'm at it." He sighed and set to work making lists of what needed doing, referencing the previous month's repair report from his building manager, after first plugging his dead cell into the charger.

By the time his girl was hungry again, Tony had figured out that he could probably sink a half million into updating and remodeling the building without raising the rent any, but it would require either completely emptying the repair-account or cashing in some of his stock. He called up his financial advisor to get the man's opinion on the matter after tending to the baby. Eventually, the pair decided to use half the cash in the maintenance fund and cash in a smaller portion of stock, with the understanding that current tenants' rent wouldn't be changed, but any future tenants would wind up paying, on average, a hundred more per month per apartment.

With the financial side addressed, Tony then called down to the front desk and had Tom – the building manager, as well as self-appointed doorman – set up a residents' meeting for Sunday afternoon. Tom guaranteed that he'd make sure everyone was made aware of the meeting. After that was taken care of, Tony then got in touch with the contractor who he always used for the repairs the building needed and made an appointment for the man to come by and discuss what Tony had in mind for the remodel.

"Guess I'll have to work on that part, huh?" he groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, grateful beyond all definition of the word that he didn't have to deal with all of this _and _work, too. He spent a moment smiling at his… his _daughter_, mulling over what sort of adjustments would be needed to the top floor of his apartment. Retrieving a blank sheet of printer paper, he made a rough sketch of the current layout. The fifth floor of his building held stairwell roof access, the inside staircase and elevator shaft, the currently-empty two-bedroom unit, his own one-bedroom unit, and the studio currently rented to Jeremiah Wingerson. Thinking of Mr. Wingerson, Tony jotted a note to himself and stuck it to the side of his computer – the elderly man wouldn't be back from New Jersey until the Sunday after the upcoming one. The reminder was to talk to the man personally when he returned. _If he was planning to renew his lease next month, I'll see if he minds being moved to the second studio down on four._

Once the current layout was sketched, Tony exchanged the black pen for a red one and set to rearranging things. He'd started off simply converting his apartment and the studio into another two-bedroom unit, then shook his head. _If I'm going to remodel, I'm gonna do it right, damnit._ He got a new piece of paper and started over. This time, he wound up with an honest-to-goodness penthouse, worthy of the name, with five bedrooms, a study, a full kitchen and formal dining room, and four bathrooms. He looked over the sketch and scribbled a modification – the one bedroom without its own bath now had a door opening into the bedroom next door. Neither of the two connected rooms had a balcony, so Tony figured he'd assign them to _his daughter_. Damn, but the thought kept blind-siding him, then he realized how many times over the last few days he'd _almost_ thought the phrase before stopping himself.

"God, who was I kidding?" he laughed at his own idiocy. "I think you'll like your rooms, sweetheart," he said, abandoning the sketch and picking up the baby. "I used to have a suite like it when I was a kid. Of course, my mother had it all decorated like something out of _Interview With a Vampire_, but I had a room for my bed, my own bath, and a second room with a couch and fireplace. If you don't mind, I think we'll forego the fireplace, huh? But I think a playroom wouldn't be out of the question."

The nearly twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep on Gibbs' couch had done Tony a world of good, and he was nearly vibrating out of his skin with unused energy. "Come on, sweetheart. If you're staying, you're going to need more than a handful of clothes and a car seat. I might not know what all you're going to need, but even _I_ know that much."

He picked up the car seat and settled the baby back into it, then carried the whole thing into the bathroom with him. He hopped into the shower and spent less than ten minutes showering, shaving, and brushing his teeth. He had just finished getting dressed in an old pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt when his cell phone rang. "Hello?" he chirped, not bothering to check the caller-ID.

"Hey Tony!" Abby's voice floated through his brain. "You sound a lot better than you did yesterday."

"Thanks, I feel better. Went over to the bossman's place last night. He watched… Damnit, I really need to find her a name, don't I? Anyway, he kept an eye on her and let me crash on his couch. Palmer was there when I woke up, so I suppose he showed up after he and Ducky finished the autopsies for Balboa."

If they'd been on a video conference, Tony would have seen the bright grin that flashed across Abby's face when he mentioned the baby needing a name. "I was just calling to check on you. Did you need anything? I can send Ziva or Tim around if so – they and the bossman have until Monday off, but they'll have to work Thanksgiving weekend."

"First I've heard of it, but I can sorta see why – can't leave us short-staffed just for some turkey and stuffing, huh? But thanks, I don't really need much right now. Though if you see him, have Jimmy give me a call if he has the time."

"Will do, Tony-boy. What about Alicia?"

Tony made a face at his phone. "Um, how about no? Dated an Alicia for a while in college, at least until she started sleeping with another guy and lying to me about it. Wouldn't have cared if she was honest with me, it's not like we were exclusive, but I told her if I wanted to go out with someone else – she coulda done me the same courtesy."

"Eek. Okay, no Alicias. What about Lillian?"

"Third stepmother. Try again."

Abby laughed, "I don't think I'm good at this. Oh! Why don't you name her after your mom?"

"Alice?" Tony chewed on his lip a moment. "Hmm… I don't think she really looks like an Alice. Alices have blonde hair – hers is darker than mine – and freckles. I doubt she's going to have freckles."

"Jasmine?" Abby tried again.

"Ugh! That's a stripper name."

"Like I said, I don't think I'm good at this." A beep sounded in the background. "Oh! Gotta go, I got a hit on a print for Balboa. Call if you need me!"

"Will do, Abs. Have fun." He flipped the phone closed and finished pulling on his socks and sneakers. He made sure he had his keys and wallet, restocked the diaper-duffle, and pulled on his old varsity jacket. "You ready, sweetheart?"

He almost skipped down to his car.

* * *

Back in her lab, Abby emailed the results from her fingerprint search to Balboa before initiating a three-way call with Ziva and Tim. Once everyone was on the line, she started her usual hyper speech. "Guys, guys, guys, guys! Oh my god, oh my god – you guys! Guess what! You'll never guess – so I'll just come out and say it. I just got off the phone with Tony and he's figuring out names for the baby so I know he's going to keep her and I'm pretty sure Gibbs had something to do with it – he spent last night asleep on the couch and Jimmy braved the wrath of Gibbs to go and check on him – Tony, I mean, not Gibbs, I mean that Jimmy went to check on Tony and I just had to pass this along before I went and exploded or something!"

When Abby paused for air, both Ziva and Tim started talking over each other, though what they said was pretty close to the same thing, mainly for her to calm down and repeat herself. Taking a breath, Abby let out a high-pitched noise, bounced a little on her feet, and tried again. "Two things: First, I think Tony's going to keep the baby. He's trying to find a name for her. Second, Tony spent last night on Gibbs' couch, but Palmer still went over to check on him – further proof that they're probably involved."

This time, the overlapping replies boiled down to 'So? Tell us something we don't already know'.

Abandoning the Palmer-thread for the moment, Abby went on with the purpose behind the call. "Anyway, I was thinking that since Tony's keeping the baby, we should throw him a baby shower."

"Good idea," was Tim's reply, while Ziva had to ask what a baby shower was. A brief explanation later had her agreeing. They decided on Saturday evening, and Abby agreed to let Jimmy and Ducky know about it. Ziva said she would let Gibbs know. After all the details were settled, Abby sent a text to Tony, telling him about it. She knew, unlike the others, that Tony despised surprise parties.

* * *

Tony was halfway to the nearest mall when his phone pinged to indicate a text. He read it while waiting for a red light to change. Abby was notifying him that he was going to host a baby shower that Saturday evening, and contained strict instructions that he was only going to be providing the space. He smiled and modified his mental shopping list. He was nearly positive that Abby would find something weird, Tim something geeky, and Ziva something practical – he'd make sure to stick mainly to clothes and little things for his current outing. He had a suspicion as to what Gibbs would be giving him, and he only hoped Gibbs wouldn't wind up regretting it.

Arriving at the mall, he took a minute to examine the for-rent strollers. There were three kinds, one was obviously for small children who could sit up on their own, one contained a baby carrier that looked more like a plastic torture device, and the third Tony had thought was broken until he saw a young woman with a baby only a little older than his own come up and clip her car seat to its frame, deposit the buck-fifty, and wander off. He followed her example and then headed for the store directory.

Most of the baby shops were on the second floor, so he hitched a ride in the elevator. The first store he went into consisted primarily of furniture, with a wide selection of stuffed animals, posters in pastel frames, and other decorations. He looked around a bit, and made a mental note to come back after the remodeling was done. The second shop was more along the lines of what he was looking for. With the overenthusiastic assistance of a very pregnant clerk who couldn't have been much older than nineteen, Tony soon had a pile of girly clothes in shades of yellow and green – he'd outright shuddered at the thought of _pink_ – and another three-pack of bottles, a package of pacifiers, and a couple of small stuffed animals. The third store provided him with two pairs of the tiniest shoes he'd ever seen, a plastic thing to use when giving her a bath, and a supply of baby shampoo and soap.

Taking a break in the food court, Tony spent the time ignoring the looks the other shoppers were giving him for carrying on a one-sided conversation with his girl. Once he'd finished his cherry slush and pizza, he went to the fourth store, this one was on the main floor. It wasn't precisely a baby store, but it did have exactly what he was looking for – a tiny Ohio State jersey. With the most important bit paid for, he returned to the first store and picked out a bassinet – he didn't think she should live in the car seat, after all, and he didn't exactly have room for a full nursery at the moment.

With his wallet several hundred dollars lighter, he made one last stop before leaving the mall – to change the baby – and then went back to his car. Everything he'd bought fit in the bassinet, which in turn fit neatly behind the driver's seat of his car. Humming under his breath, Tony started the car and merged into the midday traffic. By the time he'd gone half a mile, he was singing quietly. He'd run through the lyrics three times before he realized he'd been singing _The Song is You_ by Frank Sinatra.

* * *

**A/N2:** Yes, Tony's thinking that Gibbs is going to give him Kelly's old crib. However, that will be addressed in coming chapters, so be patient with me, please!

Reviews are awesome.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Well, the truck's fixed and hopefully, I'll survive the next week until we can start laying down miles again - my next check's going to be lucky to break $50.00. Sigh - I really hope the truck doesn't break again.

* * *

**When it Rains**

"Well, that makes things somewhat simpler, though we still need to have full custody awarded to you," Liza said.

Tony nodded even though he knew she couldn't see him through the phone. "Abby – the tech at work who's doing the DNA test for me – said she's going to email you the results. She's definitely mine." Abby had called again shortly after Tony had returned home from the mall. "Not that there was any doubt, but this proves it to the millionth percentile."

"And you said you're going to be remodeling your apartment?"

"Yep. Got an appointment with the contractor tomorrow. It'll cost an arm and a leg, but I'm also getting a few updates for the building that I've been putting off for far too long."

"Could I get copied on all the paperwork?"

"Sure, no problem. Oh, and her pediatrician says she's entirely healthy – I gave him a copy of your card and permission to copy you on her medical file. Abby also sent him a copy of the paternity test results."

"Dr. Blair, right?"

"Yep," Tony said, smiling. It was odd just how good he felt. It couldn't have been just the sleep he'd managed. _Maybe it's actually having made a decision?_ He brushed off the thought. _Doesn't matter._ "And as soon as I'm done chatting with you, I'm going to head in to work, see if I can't track down Stardust's real name. Once I find her, though… Should I just give you the info? Or do I need to inform the police?"

"Just give me the info, Tony. I'll take care of everything. You've got enough on your plate as it is." She paused for a moment, then continued. "I know you were planning on returning to work on Monday, but might I suggest you take the paternity leave I know NCIS offers? Not only would it free you up for the court appearance you'll need to make, but it will also give you a little additional time to adjust to being a dad."

Tony laughed, "Already done, Liza. I called HR right before I called you."

"Good," she replied. "Keep me updated, and make sure you send along the info on Stardust when you locate her."

"Will do," Tony said, then ended the call. The dryer buzzed and he transferred the pile of mostly baby-things to his laundry basket before picking it up and rushing back to his apartment to deposit the laundry on his sofa and running back to retrieve his daughter from Tom.

"She's a little doll, Mr. Tony," Tom greeted his boss. Tony had long since given up on getting Tom to stop with the 'Mister' – the old man had argued that anyone signing a paycheck demanded respect, and be damned if he wasn't going to give it.

Tony grinned, "I know. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. Don't know how I would have juggled her _and_ the laundry without you."

"Maybe you should consider adding a washer/dryer hookup in your place when you remodel," Tom suggested.

Tony shrugged, "Maybe, but I don't think I will. It's bad enough I'm claiming the whole of the fifth floor – I don't want to lose all contact with my neighbors."

"You're a good'un, Mr. Tony. You have a nice day, ya hear?"

"Already doing it, Tom. You have a good day, too, and thanks again!" Tony figured that folding the laundry could wait, so he headed back to his car. It was time to track down Stardust.

* * *

Abby wasn't in her lab when Tony arrived, but her music was still playing, so Tony assumed she'd be back momentarily. He sat the garbage bag filled with the laundry basket and towels on the steel table in the main lab, then headed for Abby's office and turned the stereo down. He sat the black diaper bag on the floor next to Abby's futon, and the car seat on the futon itself. He paused by the controls for the automatic door, locking it in the 'open' position, before helping himself to a pair of latex gloves and Abby's fingerprint kit.

He'd just finished pulling prints off of the laundry basket from places he was pretty sure he hadn't touched when Abby strolled in, carrying a stack of papers. She looked up at him and smiled, "Hey, Tony! Whacha doing here? Thought you took leave."

Tony nodded, most of his attention now focused on the note which had accompanied the basket and towels. "I did, I am. But I still have to track down her mother's real name," his chin jerked towards the baby in the adjoining room. "I'd really rather not involve a PI unless I really have to."

"Oh," Abby replied, moving to the office with the stack of papers she carried. She tucked them into a filing cabinet drawer before quickly returning to Tony's side. "Want a hand?"

"Sure. I already pulled a bunch of prints off the laundry basket, if you wanted to scan them in and start searching, I'd be grateful."

"You bet," Abby said, helping herself to the stacked plastic films containing print-powder in smeary-looking splotches. She quietly worked alongside Tony for a few minutes before her curiosity simply couldn't be contained any longer. "Can I ask you something, Tony?"

"What?" Only about three percent of his attention was on Abby. Ten percent was on the note he was examining, and the remaining eighty-seven percent was centered directly on the car seat in the next room.

"Why the fingerprints? Why not just do a composite?"

Tony sighed and looked up at Abby. "Truth?"

"Always the best policy."

"I don't remember exactly what she looked like. Not her face, in any case."

Abby chuckled a little, "Hey, you rhymed!"

"No cheesy lines about poets, _please_."

Abby held her hands up in a supplicating gesture, "Would I do that to you?"

Without missing a beat, Tony nodded, "Absolutely."

Abby shrugged. "Probably," she cheerfully agreed, returning to clarifying the prints Tony had pulled off of the basket.

Tony finished getting prints off of the note and walked over to Abby with the plastic lift-strips and the note itself. "Hey, Abs?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this what I think it is?" he pointed to a rusty-looking smear under the written words on the paper scrap.

Abby peered at the stain. "Well… It looks like blood, but could be dried raspberry jam, ink, marker, or even hair-dye. Want me to test it?"

Tony rolled his eyes, "No, Abs, I want you to taste it."

"Wow, Tony," Abby glared lightly at him. "Sarcasm, really? And with Gibbs still here?"

Tony sighed. "It's been a hell of a couple of days, Abs, cut me a little slack, okay?"

Abby's eyes flickered to her office and the sleeping baby before landing on Tony once again. "Just this once." She took the note from Tony and gestured for him to continue working on the prints. Though Abby was universally thought of as an artist on fingerprint scans – able to come up with matches from even the most smeared sources – Tony was almost as good at it as she was, but almost no one knew it.

The pair amicably worked together for a while, the topic of conversation centered mainly on the little office gossip that wasn't currently about Tony himself. It reminded Tony of the six months or so before Kate joined the team, when the MCRT consisted of just himself and Gibbs, right after Blackadder had been fired for her screw-up in Spain. Sure, nowadays if Abby needed help, it was usually McGee who was sent down to the lab, but Tony still remembered the 'good old days' with fondness.

Eventually, they ran out of tests to run – for Tony, at least – and all that was left was for one machine or another to ping out a response. While waiting, Tony lent a hand in filling out Abby's monthly requisition forms, took care of the baby, and, after all else had been exhausted, eventually resorted to playing solitaire on Abby's computer. He was about to doze off when the AFIS search dinged out a match.

"Tony!" Abby called, rather unnecessarily, from her post in the main room. "We got a match!"

Tony clicked the X to close the card game and quickly joined Abby. She's moved the results to show up on the plasma.

"Miriyan Tinka Michaels," Tony read. The photo was much like all pictures taken at the DMV, with a blue backdrop and lighting that seemed to make everyone, regardless of age or race, look like a serial killer in training, but the photo did match up with the little Tony actually remembered of Stardust. "From Los Angeles?" the ID was from the state of California, and showed an address for LA. "What is she doing in DC?"

Abby typed rapidly and in just a few heartbeats, another ID photo – this one much better lit and lacking in the cold, sterile feel of DMV photos – popped up. "She's a senior at Georgetown University," Abby answered. Tony's eyes darted to the DoB info on the driver's license. Miriyan was twenty-two. He groaned a little and rubbed the back of his neck. _Damnit, I feel old._ Abby continued talking, summarizing the info she'd found. "She's a poli-sci major, with a minor in music, three-point-nine GPA, and is on the junior varsity swim team, a member of…" she counted rapidly, "fourteen different clubs. She's also listed as working in the school's library as well." Abby clicked on some other information, "And she works at the Starbucks just off campus, too. Parents are Yindi and Daku Michaels, originally from Australia – emigrated in 1979 after attending UCLA on student visas."

And with all that now overloading his brain, Tony not only felt old, but guilty, too. The kid had barely begun to make her own life before hooking up with him. Tony sighed, "Print me off her current address, please, Abs." Regardless of what Liza had ordered from him, Tony was going to go talk to the girl… Afterwards… Well, he'd take a wait-and-see approach. It really all depended on what Miriyan had to say. Abby got him copies of not just her home address in DC, but her class schedule and the address for the Georgetown University Starbucks, too.

Since it was almost five in the evening, Tony decided to start with the Starbucks. It may have been a while, but he clearly remembered college life – his own off-campus jobs nearly always started at around six or so. His very first stop, though, was Gibbs'. Tony let himself in the front door and, since both the Challenger and the old pickup were both in the drive, he knew Gibbs would be home. "Hey, Boss!"

"Yeah?" as expected, the voice echoed up from the basement.

Tony headed in that direction, car seat in hand, diaper bag over his shoulder. "Got a favor to ask," he started off nearly shouting, but by the time he'd reached the end of the sentence, he was only slightly louder than normal volume and halfway down the basement stairs. His eyes noticed a canvas-covered lump, a little taller than waist-high, in the corner near the wobbly old stool, but paid it no mind. Gibbs was pulling a length of pale wood from the steam-box Tony'd last seen used when the boat was little more than a skeleton. "You building another boat?"

"Nope," Gibbs replied, moving the wood to a vise and applying light pressure to slowly bend it into a bow shape. "Whacha need, Tony?"

Dismissing the woodwork from his mind, Tony asked, "Could you watch her for me? I've got an errand to run – shouldn't take more than a couple of hours at the most. I'd ask Palmer, but he's still at work."

"No problem," Gibbs replied, returning the somewhat slender plank of wood to the steam-box.

"Thanks, Boss – I owe you one," Tony replied, handing over his daughter and all her accompanying crap, before dashing back up the stairs and out to his car.

Gibbs could only shake his head at the retreating back of his agent. "I repeat my offer, kiddo – you ever need a break, my door's always open."

* * *

Tony didn't need to reference the student ID photo Abby had provided him with – the girl working the counter, though now dressed in Starbucks distinctive green apron and white blouse over black slacks instead of a goldtone miniskirt and halter top, was definitely the one he'd brought home with him from Fantastique all those months ago. She was definitely beautiful, with high cheekbones, wide, dark eyes, and a mass of black ringlets spilling down her back in a ponytail. Tony took a deep breath and held it for a moment before entering the store.

There wasn't much of a line, just a kid who looked like a typical computer science nerd getting a refill, but Miriyan was busy restocking a napkin dispenser. When the kid manning the register asked if he was ready to order, Tony shook his head and stepped over to where the clear case housing pastries stood between him and Miriyan. "Miriyan Michaels?" he spoke loud enough to catch her attention, but she didn't look up from her task.

"Everyone calls me Tinka," she said, finishing up with the napkins before finally looking over at who was speaking to her. She paled drastically. "Mark, I'm taking my fifteen," she said, pulling off her apron and ducking through the doorway and rapidly reemerging in the main portion of the store. She grabbed Tony's elbow and pulled him towards a secluded corner of the dining area. "How the _hell_ did you find me?"

Tony was unamused, and let it show in his tone. "It's my job," he replied. "I'm a federal agent that tracks down murderers and rapists and terrorists for a living – you honestly think finding you was _difficult_?" He let out a mirthless laugh, "Hell, I've had more trouble finding the remote for the damn television!"

Tinka paled even more and Tony sighed, rubbed a hand across his face, and took a seat at the small table half-hidden by a giant potted fern. "Sorry for the attitude," he said, "It's just been a really long week." He pushed the other chair out with his foot, "Sit down, Tinka. We need to talk."

His weary, yet suddenly friendly tone seemed to derail her own panic and she slumped down in the chair across from him. "I know," she replied. "Look, I'm sorry about just dumping her on you, but… Hell, I didn't even know I was pregnant until she was half-out."

Tony leveled a confused look at her. "How could you _not _know?"

Tinka shrugged, "I got an implant before coming to school. Was supposed to be good for five years, and one of the side-effects is that after a couple of months, you don't have to worry about getting a period. Apparently, the whole five-year bit was a lie. And I didn't have any symptoms – I never got sick, my clothes all still fit, and if I was tired? Well, I go to school full-time, I have two part-time jobs, and about another twenty hours a week is dedicated to either swim-team or the clubs I've joined. Who wouldn't be tired?"

"That night at the club…?"

"Was the only night I've allowed myself to have off in over a year." She let out a self-depreciative huff of air. "And look what happens when I slack off for a night."

"Hey," Tony said, reaching out and lightly resting a hand on hers. "It's not just your fault, you know. I was there, too. I shouldn't have brought you home with me."

"Why did you?" Tinka asked. "I mean, not that I didn't enjoy it, and you are pretty hot for an older guy –"

"Hey! I'm not _that_ old," Tony teased. It succeeded in making a small smile surface on Tinka's face. "But… To be honest, I wasn't really in the best headspace at the time," he admitted.

"What happened?"

It was Tony's turn to shrug. "I made a mistake at work and wound up costing a man three years of his life – I sent him to prison for something he couldn't have done."

"I guess I can see how that would tend to fuck with your head," she replied.

They fell into a silence that stretched on for several minutes before Tony gave himself a mental headslap. "Look," he said, "we still have to address the giant elephant on the coffee table, so I'll cut to the chase. I'm keeping the baby, but, now that I've spoken with you, I'm going to ask what you want. Before I tracked you down, you were going to wind up with your parental rights stripped in absentia, but… If you want to keep in touch, I'll allow it."

Tinka shook her head, "No… I don't think I can." She looked down at her hands for a long moment before meeting Tony's gaze. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to send me pictures, or a letter like the ones my folks send out every Christmas, but I'm not mom-material and I know it."

Knowing exactly where she was coming from – mainly because he'd thought exactly the same thing right up until Gibbs had proven otherwise early that morning – Tony nodded. "Thought that might be your reply," he said. "I'll have the paperwork drawn up and bring it by for your signature in a few days."

Tinka nodded to show her agreement, but Tony could still see some lingering tension surrounding her. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. "What?" Tony asked. "What's on your mind?"

Tinka sighed. "This is going to sound exceedingly selfish of me, but… What's going to happen to me?"

Though he could definitely press charges against her – criminal neglect being the main law she'd broken in depositing the baby on Tony's doorstep like she'd done – Tony just couldn't bring himself to do so. _She's just a scared kid, a scared kid who made a mistake – not without help, I'll fully admit, but she doesn't deserve to have her entire life ruined because of it._ "Nothing," Tony replied. "You'll wind up punishing yourself far worse than anything a courtroom can dish out," he explained on seeing the confusion surface in her expression. "I'll be back in a few days with the paperwork," he said, getting to his feet.

He left Tinka sitting in the secluded corner table, hidden almost entirely by the potted fern, and ruthlessly squashed his feelings of guilt. He'd done all he could for her – the rest was up to Tinka herself.

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Palmer?" Ducky addressed his assistant while the pair were cleaning up from their day.

Jimmy sighed, "Sorry, Dr. Mallard. Did you need something?"

Ducky finished putting away the last of the implements while Jimmy secured the bodies in their drawers. "Only to know what seems to be weighing so heavily on your mind, my boy. You've been uncharacteristically quiet all day long."

Jimmy sighed again - he'd been thinking about what Gibbs had said to him in the basement. "How do you tell if someone's interested in you or just being a friend when you've been friends for years?"

"I assume you mean romantically interested," Ducky clarified and Palmer nodded. "Hmm… Well, in my experience, one way to tell if a friend is interested in starting something more intimate is if said friend spends more time than is socially acceptable lingering in your personal space."

While Ducky went on to illustrate his meaning with a somewhat rambling story of a trip taken during his last year of medical school with a group of friends, Jimmy thought about it. _Yeah, Tony spends a lot of time in my personal space, complete with unnecessary touching, but he does that to McGee, Ziva, and Abby, too. It's almost like he doesn't understand the concept of personal space, at least not with his friends._ After waiting for Dr. Mallard's story to come to a close, Jimmy sighed yet again. "Sorry, Dr. Mallard, but I don't think that's particularly useful in this case. Are there any other ways to tell?"

Ducky smiled, "Have you perhaps considered the obvious path?"

"And what would that be?"

"Simply asking this friend outright. If they're as good a friend as you implied, then even if the attraction is not mutual, the friendship should remain."

Jimmy paled. "I… I don't think I'd be able to do that. I mean, I don't really have a whole lot of friends to begin with, and I really, really don't want to lose one."

It was Ducky's turn to sigh. He cast a quick glance upwards, in a 'God-give-me-patience' gesture, before meeting Palmer's gaze. "For goodness' sakes, Jimmy! I assume we've been talking about Anthony, correct?" Palmer could only gape at his mentor. "Oh, close your mouth. I am neither blind nor senile, and only a fool would have failed to see your attraction to Tony or how you wish your friendship was something a bit closer. As to whether or not Tony feels the same way… Well, I can't say with certainty, but I strongly advise you to speak with him."

"But –"

Ducky interrupted, "I think, should you actually manage to scrape up the courage to do so, that you might wind up pleasantly surprised."

"But –"

Ducky held up a hand. "If it helps, Mr. Palmer, think of it this way: Has Tony ever given you any reason to think you would not be welcome as a potential lover?"

Jimmy blinked. "That… That's something I hadn't thought of before." He sank onto one of the two rarely-used metal stools. "I don't think he has… I mean, he dates almost as many guys as he does girls," Jimmy snapped his mouth shut, a guilty look on his face.

"I was aware of that fact," Ducky said, calming his assistant. At Palmer's questioning look, Ducky clarified, "He'd been with NCIS for all of about a month when I ran into him at Prix Élevé, a rather pricy French restaurant that has since closed, on a date with a young man who used to work in HR – I believe his name was Edward Harper."

"Oh," Jimmy replied, relieved he hadn't inadvertently revealed something Tony had wanted kept quiet. He fell silent for a long moment, Ducky's words and Gibbs' admission that, as long as it was kept out of the office, he wouldn't mind if he and Tony 'started something' ricocheting around in his mind.

Ducky left Palmer to his thoughts and quickly finished up the last of the chores needed to shut down for the day. As he was snagging his hat and pulling on his coat, he turned to Jimmy once more. "One last thing, Mr. Palmer, before I head home for the night," he said. "Do remember that there is no reward worth having that does not incorporate some risk."

The words triggered a steely feeling of resolve. "You know what?" Jimmy said, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. "You're right." He smiled and headed for the tiny locker room adjacent to Ducky's office where he kept his street clothes. He changed quickly, and all but ran for his rickety rust-bucket of a car. He wound up surprised that he didn't get pulled over during his drive – he'd managed to make it to Tony's building within half an hour, when the drive was usually closer to an hour, especially during the evening rush.

He parked in the empty space that still sported an out-of-date sign for 'building maintenance' and flashed a quick grin of greeting at Doorman Tom before taking the stairs two and three at a time up to the fifth floor.

He arrived out-of-breath and let himself into Tony's apartment. Tony was filling out some paperwork at the kitchen bar, the baby in a white wicker bassinet angled between the couch and recliner. "Evening, Jimmy," Tony said, not looking up. "Have a good day?"

Jimmy smiled and stalked up behind Tony. "Yeah, it was a pretty good day," he said.

Hearing something new in Palmer's voice, Tony swiveled in his seat. "You okay?" he asked, concern warring with confusion on his face.

"Yeah," Jimmy whispered, leaning closer than normal to Tony. "I'm okay. More than, even."

"Jimmy?"

"Shut up, Tony," Jimmy replied, laying a hand on the back of Tony's neck. He tipped his head slightly to the left, leaned in, and kissed Tony.

Tony's lips were soft and warm, and Tony's hands came up and wrapped around Jimmy's chest, between his t-shirt and jacket. His heart beating so rapidly, he wouldn't be surprised to find that Tony could hear it, too. Jimmy flicked his tongue across Tony's lips and tasted Carmex. If Tony reacted badly, Jimmy was going to have _one_ perfect memory, one moment all for himself, but Jimmy needn't have worried. After half a heartbeat, Tony relaxed and parted his lips.

Tony tasted faintly of mouthwash and peppermint gum and coffee with hazelnut creamer, and Jimmy memorized the flavors. Still lagging somewhat behind, Tony reciprocated, only to be surprised when Jimmy let out a low moaning noise and tightened his hold on the back of Tony's neck, his other hand wrapping itself in Tony's shirt. He poured nearly six years' worth of growing attraction and obsession into the kiss.

Eventually, out of breath, and head swimming, Jimmy reluctantly relaxed his hold on Tony and pulled back a little. He blinked to clear his vision, only to find that his glasses were fogged up.

"Hell, Jimmy," Tony whispered. He swallowed. "What was that…?"

Jimmy smiled, nearly glowing. He could see that his kiss hadn't left Tony unaffected – the older man's pupils were blown wide, leaving only the thinnest sliver of silvery green surrounding them, and he was breathing like he'd just finished a marathon. "Six years, Tony. Six years I've wanted to do that," Jimmy whispered. "Next move's completely up to you."

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but Jimmy silenced him with a finger to his lips, "Hold that thought," Jimmy said. "Before you say anything, I want you to know that I know neither of us has a real great track record with relationships, but unless you want me to forget this and not even try at all, I… I don't want to just be friends with benefits, Tony. If you want to try this, see if we can be as good together as I think we can be, then it's going to be as serious as possible. I've done casual, and I think I'm done with it. However, if you don't want this, or don't think you can be serious… Let me know, and we'll forget this ever happened." Jimmy released Tony and stepped back, "I'm going to head over to my apartment for tonight. I don't want a quick answer on this, Tony – I want you to really _think_ about it. I'll come over in the morning with breakfast, and if you still need more time at that point, I'll give it to you."

With that, Jimmy left a stunned-silent Tony sitting at the breakfast bar, and headed out of the apartment.

After the door closed with a quiet _click_, Tony blinked. "Did that just happen?" he whispered, then licked his lips. Tasting cherry Chapstick and a faint hint of Earl Grey tea, he had a definitive physical reminder that yes, Jimmy had just strode into the apartment, kissed the living daylights out of him, dropped the single biggest bombshell of the week, and strode out again.

* * *

**A/N2:** I'm thinking that this tale will be all wrapped-up in another 2-4 chapters, depending on my muse. However, I'll likely add small bits to this 'verse in the future, perhaps even a slightly longer piece after the baby is a little older.

Please remember to review.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long to upload, but free Wi-Fi is getting harder and harder to come by!

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**When it Rains**

Tony sat, staring at the spot where the short hallway connected the living room to the apartment door, for what simultaneously seemed to be both mere moments and eons before knocking at said door jerked him out of his daze. "It's open!" he called out, and seconds later, Ziva rounded the corner from the hall.

"Good evening, Tony," she said.

"Hey, Ziva. Ya need something?"

She shook her head and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "Not particularly, though I did want to see how you were doing. I heard you are taking six weeks' leave."

Tony smiled, "Yeah. I'm keeping her. Wasn't going to and hadn't planned on it, but…" He shrugged in a 'there you have it' gesture. "Thanks for the food you brought by the other day – you're going to have to give me your lasagna recipe."

"Perhaps," Ziva smirked. "But then again, perhaps not."

"Oh, come on, _please_?" Tony made a comically pathetic expression. "I'll trade you for Nonna's pasta recipe."

Ziva laughed and ducked around the columnesque end to the bar and into the kitchen. "Speaking of food, have you had dinner yet?" she asked, opening the freezer and checking to see what-all had yet to be consumed of the foods she'd brought.

"Nope," Tony replied, finally setting down the ink pen he'd been hanging on to since before Palmer had shown up. The thought of food had his mouth watering and his stomach gurgled noisily. "But I think it's getting on towards dinnertime. You staying?"

Ziva rolled her eyes, "No, I thought I'd come all the way over here, heat you a meal I'd already cooked, and go home to order pizza."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, or so I've been told."

Ziva shrugged and moved a plastic container of what appeared to be some sort of rice dish from the freezer to the counter. "Since you will be keeping the baby, have you decided what to name her?"

Tony shook his head. "Not yet. I've ruled out a few names, but nothing's seemed right yet."

"You could always name her after yourself," she said, removing the lid from the rice and putting the container in the microwave. After hitting the start button, she then began refilling the tea kettle she'd brought along with the food.

Tony wrinkled his nose. "No way. It's bad enough being a 'junior'. No way I'd saddle a girl with that!"

"I meant to call her Antonia," Ziva clarified. She turned off the faucet and sat the kettle on the stove. "And I didn't know you were named for your father."

Tony shrugged, "Not many people do. Actually, if you want to get really technical about it, the name on my birth certificate is Anthony D. DiNozzo IV. Great-grandpa went by his middle name, Dominic, and so did Grampa DiNozzo, though the 'D' in his case stood for Dario. Dad's 'D' – and mine – is just the initial, and to avoid confusion after I started school, he started tacking 'senior' on to his name." _And he always did call me 'junior', though there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna admit that._

Ziva leaned against the counter, listening to Tony with a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was only rarely that Tony actually spoke about his family, and this time he wasn't even trying to disguise it as a joke. "If not Antonia, then why not something else similarly Italian? You seem proud of your heritage, so why not allow it to show in her name?"

Tony shrugged again. "Could, but… Well, I've already gone over the whole list of girl names from Dad's side of the family, and nothing really sounds right. And most of the names on Mom's side are dull and lifeless – a mess of Alices and Marys and Elizabeths."

Ziva frowned and thought about it for a moment. "And I assume you have already considered the more popular American names…?"

Tony nodded, "Yeah, though most of them are pretty identical to the girl-names from both sides of my family, except for the ones like Crystal, Hope, and Charity."

"And what is wrong with those?" Ziva asked.

Tony grimaced, "You can't honestly think that 'Charity DiNozzo' sounds even remotely appealing."

"I see what you mean," Ziva chuckled. "Naming a child is far more difficult than I would have thought."

Tony nodded emphatically, "Yes, it is! I mean, I don't want her having a name that's common as dirt, but I don't want to make her hate me later, either. And it'd be best not to come up with anything that'd lead to horrible teasing in school." Tony gave a little melodramatic shudder, "I remember a kid by the name of January when I was in elementary school. He had a sister called October."

Ziva shot a look that clearly said 'you have got to be kidding me' in Tony's direction before helping herself to some plates and mugs from the cupboards. "Okay, so nothing too… _odd_. I can understand that." Rummaging around in the cabinet where Tony kept his sugar, she distractedly murmured, "Jarah… jarah…" Louder, she asked, "Do you not have any honey?" Turning around to see Tony blinking somewhat contemplatively in her direction, Ziva repeated the question.

"Jarah?" Tony asked.

"Yes, it is the Hebrew word for honey. I did not realize I said it out loud."

"Hmm…" Tony trailed off, twisting in his seat to look at the bassinet next to the couch. "Not as a first name, but it'd be kinda cool as a middle name…"

"Tony?"

"What?" he didn't bother looking back in Ziva's direction.

"_Do_ you have any honey?"

"Oh," he glanced in her direction. "Yeah, it's above the fridge." He made a dismissive gesture in the general direction of his refrigerator and returned his gaze to where his daughter lay sleeping. As his partner busied herself in his kitchen, Tony let his mind wander, flitting back and forth between trying to figure out a good first name and mulling over what Jimmy had said.

By the time supper was served and eaten, he was no closer to an answer on either question. Ziva let herself out when the baby started whimpering for her own dinner at about seven-thirty. Once she was fed, burped, and changed, Tony took to pacing the length of his living room. About the sixth time he passed the couch, Tony sighed. "Come on, sweetheart – I don't know about you, but I could do with a change of scene."

He bundled her into the car seat, pulled on his sneakers and old varsity jacket, and headed for his car. Tony drove aimlessly for about an hour before realizing he was only a couple of blocks from McGee's apartment. _Why not? It's not like he's got work in the morning._ Tony easily located a parking space within walking distance and unhooked the car seat from the seatbelt. It was second nature now to sling the diaper bag over his shoulder, the strap crossing his chest, and to carry the car seat by tucking the handle in the crook of his elbow.

Tim's place lacked a doorman or security door, so it was simplicity itself to let himself into the building. He made short work of the stairs that led to Tim's walk-up. He knocked persistently on reaching the door. When it swung open, however, Tim was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Tony," Sarah said. "Tim's out running with Jethro right now and probably won't be back for another hour."

Tony smiled, "McGeekette! How've you been?"

Sarah laughed at Tony's little-boy grin. "I've been good. I got into the masters' program I wanted and I met this really nice guy that even Tim approves of. Tim tells me you're a dad now?"

Tony's grin brightened. "Yeah," he nodded down to the car seat. Sarah stepped aside and let Tony into her brother's apartment. She claimed the computer chair, leaving a new addition of an overstuffed rocker-recliner for Tony. Tony sank down on it and quickly unstrapped his daughter from the carrier. "Sarah, this is my daughter," his voice took on a nearly-comical formal tone. "Sweetheart, this is Sarah McGee – Timmy-boy's baby sister."

Sarah scooted the office chair closer to Tony. "Aww! She's adorable. What's her name?"

Tony shrugged, "No clue. I've ruled out just about every name in my family, though I think I've got her middle name."

"Can I…?" Sarah held her arms out.

"Sure," Tony replied, handing the baby over to the grad student.

While Sarah made cooing noises over the baby, Tony looked around Tim's place. After a few moments, he decided that the only new addition was the recliner, though he was pretty sure that a box of computer gunk had been cleared out. "She looks just like a mini-you," Sarah said.

"So people keep telling me," Tony teased. "But at least we know she'll be beautiful."

Sarah snorted, "Modest much?" Tony held up his hand, thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Bullshit," Sarah sneezed. "Oh, excuse me," an exaggerated-innocent look surfaced on her face.

Tony chuckled, "How come I don't work with you? I mean, Tim's fun and all, but he's too easy to wind up."

Sarah nodded knowingly. "Well, probably because I would rather undergo root-canal without anesthetic than to run around trying to fix the world."

"Takes all kinds, huh?"

"I suppose so," she replied. The pair chatted amicably, getting to know one another a little better than had been allowed when Sarah was under investigation, while Sarah doted on the baby. About fifteen minutes later, Sarah interrupted Tony's description of the time he'd superglued Tim's face to his desk to ask, "You're really into movies, right?"

"Yeah," Tony admitted, wondering where this was leading.

"What's that one movie with what's-her-name from _Mamma Mia!_, Goldie Hawn, and Bruce Willis – the one where Bruce Willis plays the undertaker who uses spray-paint instead of make-up?"

"Oh, that's _Death Becomes Her_, and the one actress is Meryl Streep. Why?"

"Who's the actress who gives Goldie Hawn and Meryl Streep the magic de-aging, live-forever potion?"

"Isabella Rossellini. Again, I ask why?"

Sarah smiled. "Because you're right," she said. "She," she indicated Tony's daughter, "is going to be really beautiful. Classically beautiful, even, but with this exotic air, like Isabella Rossellini." She shook her head as though to derail the random train of thought and returned their conversation back to its original track. "But, you were saying about the superglue?"

Tony obliged and continued with his story, managing to finish up just as Tim got back with his dog, though a small portion of his brain latched on to what Sarah'd said and filed in the 'warm fuzzy' box in his mental filing system.

"Tony," Tim nearly yelped on seeing just who his sister was chatting with. "What are you doing here?"

Tony had to smirk at the barely-concealed panic on Probie's face. _Don't ever change, McGee – you're always gonna be suspicious when I drop by unannounced._ Out loud, he shrugged and said, "Well, I talked to Ziva earlier today, and I think I've bugged Gibbs enough for the week already, and I know Abby's got something bowling-related tonight, and I had to get out of the apartment or lose what little mind I've got left. Personally, I think coming here was a good move – Sarah and I have managed to get to know one another a little better. It's obvious she really did inherit all the cool genes in your family, huh?"

The suspicious look on Tim's face kicked itself into 'damage-control' mode. "Oh… So, what did you guys talk about?" he asked, putting Jethro's leash away and busying himself with providing kibble for the mutt.

Simultaneously, both Sarah and Tony replied with, "You," before bursting out into unrestrained giggles – though Tony might just have shot anyone who dared insinuate that he did anything so unmanly as _giggle_.

Tim simply sighed in resignation and refilled his dog's water bowl. "And I suppose it's too much to hope that you were discussing my dedication to work or the time I won the Mathletics competition in high school." Tony's eyes lit up at 'Mathletics'. Sensing Tony's glee, Tim turned around and held up a hand in a shushing gesture. "If I ever hear so much as a _single word_ about Mathletics or Mathletes or any derivation thereof, DiNozzo, I swear I will program your computer to do nothing but broadcast the Michigan fight song all day long."

Tony's mouth snapped shut. He briefly weighed the pros and cons of Mathlete-related ribbing versus his own irritation at his alma mater's arch-rival's theme and the irritation Gibbs would bring to bear on the entire situation once it started playing in the squad room. "Got it," he allowed. "But you owe me one free shot at some point in the future."

Tim's left eyebrow crept a little higher than his right. "That so?" Tony simply leveled his best 'innocent grin' at his friend and teammate. Tim sighed, letting Tony win this round simply to speed things along. "You didn't answer my question earlier, though. How come you're here?"

"Didn't I?" Tony replied, scratching the back of his head. "Thought I mentioned I had to get out of the house for a while and everyone else was busy. Figured you'd either be writing or leveling up that online elf of yours – either way, you'd be home."

"Still doesn't answer the question, Tony." Tim hung up his jacket and dug into his fridge for a can of soda.

Tony squirmed in the armchair, suddenly uncomfortable – he knew precisely what Tim was asking, but he wasn't about to get into it with Sarah in the room. "Hey, Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you watch her for me for a little bit?" Tony asked.

Sarah smiled, "Sure, but if you're gone longer than thirty minutes, I start charging ten bucks an hour."

Tony blinked. "Extortionist."

Sarah shook her head. "Nope. Mercenary, sure, but not quite extortionist, not when day-cares tend to charge almost sixty per day."

"Eek," he grimaced, then pushed aside the thought. "Something else to look into later, I suppose." He climbed to his feet and made a beckoning motion towards Tim. "Walk with me, McGee."

Curious, Tim sat his unopened can of Diet Coke on the counter and followed Tony out into the hall. "I've got my laundry down in the basement," Tim said, taking the lead and trying to be patient while a suddenly silent DiNozzo gathered his thoughts.

Halfway down the first staircase, Tony finally sighed. "What's next?" he questioned. Tim wasn't too sure he was talking to him, so he stayed quiet for the moment. Tony continued, "I mean, first the baby shows up, and now Palmer… What's next, I wanna know, 'cause shit like this always happens in threes."

"Don't know," Tim replied. "And what about Palmer?" Sure, Tim was more than okay with discussing theories with Abby and Ziva, but he really did _not_ want nor need any more details of DiNozzo's sex life than he had already, yet he couldn't stop the question from falling out of his mouth like a verbal brick.

Tony scrubbed a hand across his face and paused to lean against the rail two steps up from the first-floor landing. "Rule twelve," Tony said.

"Never assume?" Tim hazarded a guess, his mind so not on Gibbs' rules right then.

"No," Tony shook his head. "That one's eight. Twelve's 'never date a coworker'."

"Oh, yeah. What about it?"

"Is it worth it?" Tony asked.

"Is what worth it?" Tim turned around and faced his partner. A little alarm started pinging quietly in the corner of his mind – Tony actually looked _more_ lost than he had the other day, when Tim had dropped by only to discover that Palmer was more than capable of handling a derailing DiNozzo. _And isn't that just perfect? The freaking Autopsy Gremlin's better at handling my partner than I am._

Tony gave no indication that he noticed Tim's sudden unease and finally gave Tim the complete question that had spurred him into coming over to begin with. "Is breaking rule twelve worth it? I mean, I know you and Abby dated for a while there, and even though you're both still a little possessive about each other, you've managed to stay friends all these years after calling it quits…" He sighed again, "So, is it worth it?"

Tim joined Tony in leaning against the rail. He thought about it, then shrugged. "It depends on the people. I mean, me and Abby thought it was worth it – still think so, too – but I'm pretty sure we both know why Gibbs has the rule to begin with and in his case, I think he woulda been better off not to have broken it." McGee paused, ran the sentence back through his brain, and tried to rephrase. "I mean, if it had been a rule at the time, of course."

"We don't know that it wasn't," Tony said, knowing that McGee was referring to Gibbs' ill-concealed prior relationship with Jenny.

"True," Tim allowed. He then decided to bring this conversation under some semblance of control – _Mainly because if I leave it up to Tony, we'll be standing here all night and he still won't have come to the point._ "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"This is about you and Palmer, isn't it?"

Tony blinked at Tim. "What?"

Tim laughed a little. "Come on, Tony – it's obvious that you and Palmer have this weird _thing_ – and no," he threw his hands up in the universal 'stop' gesture, "I do _not_ want details! But you _never_ blindly do something Abby, Ziva, or I tell you to, and you only do what Gibbs says to without question about eighty percent of the time. Repeatedly, Ziva, Abby, and I have seen you do something Palmer said to, and wonder of wonders, you actually did what he said to without arguing first." He paused and took a really close look at Tony and had to laugh. "Oh, my god…" the laughter bubbled out, beyond his control at this point. "You didn't know! NCIS' answer to Cassanova, and you didn't know you were in love!"

As Tim's laughter got stronger and stronger, all Tony could do was glare at him, but by the time McGee had sank to sitting on the top step leading down to the basement level, Tony could actually sorta see the humor in the situation. Choosing to ignore Tim's braying laughter, Tony rolled his eyes and left Tim in the stairwell.

Letting himself back into Tim's apartment, Sarah looked up. "Where's Tim?"

Tony rolled his eyes again, "Having a mental breakdown in the stairwell."

"_What?_"

"Oh, I asked him a question and he proceeded to start laughing his ass off," Tony grumbled.

"What question?"

Tony flopped into the recliner. "Oh, our boss has a bunch of rules that aren't part of official NCIS policy – stuff like rule three's 'never be unreachable', or rule eighteen's 'it's better to seek forgiveness than permission' – and I wanted Probie's opinion about one of them is all."

Sarah gave Tony the same incredulous look that Tim used so effectively. "Which rule and why'd you want Tim's opinion?"

Tony shrugged, "It's a rule he's broken before, and I wanted to know if it was worth it."

"What rule?"

"Never date a coworker."

"Tony…" a slightly predatory look surfaced on Sarah McGee's face. "Do you have a thing for my brother?"

Instead of winding him up like she'd thought would be the case, the question simply made Tony arch one eyebrow a little higher than the other and snort. "Not hardly – he's really not my type."

"Then who…"

"Abby," Tony clarified. "Tim and Abby dated for a while, back before he joined the team."

"And you?" Sarah prompted. "Who…?"

Tony simply smiled sweetly and stood up again. "I really need to get going. Let McGeek know I said 'bye', would ya?" He slung the diaper bag over a shoulder and relieved Sarah of the baby.

This did not stop Sarah from repeating her question, "Tony? Who at work were you considering dating?"

Tony's grin grew bigger as he resecured his daughter in the car seat. The faint sounds of McGee, still braying in the stairs, drifted through the hallway when he opened the door. "See ya later, McGeekette!" Tony said, disappearing down the hallway towards the stairs on the opposite end of the building from Tim.

"Tony!" Sarah called after his retreating back. "Coward," she grumbled good-naturedly, before turning to go see if her brother had broken anything during his latest bout of insanity.

* * *

Even though he was pretty sure Abby had something or other to do with her bowling nun friends, Tony still swung past her place. Her little red coupe wasn't in its customary parking place, so Tony continued on to the bowling alley not far from the sisters' convent. He'd tagged along a time or two in the past, and so Ritchie – the man behind the shoe-rental counter – recognized him. "Hey, Tony. They're back on lanes nine and ten tonight." He glanced at the baby-carrier, but didn't comment; it was hardly the weirdest thing he'd seen brought into his building.

"Thanks, Ritchie," Tony replied, but shook his head at the offer of shoes. "Not tonight, Rich. Gotta talk to Abby about something is all."

Ritchie, who was probably half again older than Tony, but who didn't look it, winced and ran a hand through his jet-black hair. "Look, if it's all that important, you might wanna run across to the 7-11 and pick her up some Red Bull – the Caf-Pow machine broke down yesterday and she's been having to make-do with coffee."

Tony echoed Ritchie's wince. "Yeah, good plan, man. Be right back."

Ten minutes later, Tony returned with a plastic sack from 7-11 containing four of the largest cans of Red Bull the convenience store kept in stock. He silently made his way back to the far corner of the facility. Abby was playing with Sisters Rosita and Bridgette, opposite the other three members of the highly-unorthodox team. All six of the women somehow managed to notice him at approximately the same time, and shouted out a greeting of "Tony!", not wholly unlike Norm's greeting on _Cheers_.

"Ladies," Tony cheerfully replied, bracing himself for the Abby-cannonball that hit his midsection and then wrapped around his chest. She was babbling a mile-a-minute about the broken Caf-Pow machine but how it hadn't had much of an impact on her game and was he going to stay and play, too, because Sister Therese had a small burn on her hand from working in the kitchen that afternoon that was causing her problems and could probably be convinced to sit out a round or two – and on and on in true Abby-fashion. Tony, unable to squeeze a word in edgeways, simply held up the hand with the plastic bag from 7-11 and shook it a little, making the cans it contained clink together.

Abby released him and seized the bag, recognizing the shape of the cans inside, and immediately cracked one open and drained it on the spot. While she was chugging away, Tony individually greeted the nuns, and introduced his daughter. While the nuns descended on her like a whole gaggle of mother-hens, Tony grabbed Abby's elbow and tugged her down a few lanes. She was still working on finishing the first can of Red Bull, but showed an extraordinary ability to walk and drink at the same time. Tony wasn't too sure he would have been able to replicate the feat.

With an 'aahhhh' noise and the scrunch of crushing an empty can, Abby sank onto the scorekeeper's seat for lane six. "Thanks, I needed that. Whacha need, Tony-boy?"

Tony gave her a half-smile and settled onto the hard plastic chair next to her. "Is breaking rule twelve worth it?"

"For me and Tim, it was. But for Bossman and Jenny? Not so much. Depends on the people."

"So what would make it a good idea?"

Abby shrugged, "Well… I can't answer that for you. It's something you have to ask yourself. What benefits would you have? What would the drawbacks be? If you start something and it goes sour, would you still be able to work with them?"

Tony sat silently for several minutes, his eyes tracking the nuns handing his girl from one set of arms to another, cooing over her. _If I start something with Jimmy, and it goes south like every other relationship I've ever had, could I still work with him?_ He imagined all the ways a relationship could end, both those that he'd experienced and those he'd never experienced.

The first thing to pop into his mind was how it had ended with Wendy. Wendy Xu was the only person with whom Tony had ever initiated a romantic relationship after having known the person in question in any other capacity first. Wendy had been a first-year teacher during his senior year in high school – she taught music – and had reawakened his interest in the piano. He'd been forced into lessons when he'd been a kid, but other than 'Chopsticks', he hadn't been able to remember much until it was pointed out that he needed another half-credit in an art before he could graduate and Wendy had walked him through his barely-remembered lessons from when he'd been six, eventually getting him not only to the point he could play sheet-music with minimal errors, but to the point where he could improvise jazz and blues for _hours_. Though Wendy had been extraordinarily hot in the eyes of his eighteen year-old self, their relationship had remained one of student and teacher right up until he graduated. He hadn't really thought of her much until nearly nine years later when he got roped into an undercover gig playing at a blues bar in Baltimore. The same night they caught the bad guy they'd been after, Wendy had been in the audience and had recognized her former student as the man behind the piano on stage. She asked him out after the baddie had been tackled by a 'busboy' and all hell had broken loose.

They'd dated for nearly a year when Tony'd asked her to marry him. Sure, she'd said yes, but it obviously hadn't happened. Not too long after he'd met Gibbs and put his application in at NCIS, Tony had come home to find her screwing another man. He wouldn't have cared if she'd been honest with him – hell, he knew he wasn't very good at monogamy and never expected anyone else to be, either, but he was always honest with the people he dated and expected the same courtesy in return. Tony honestly hated liars. The relationship ended in a spectacular fight, complete with thrown crockery, and _that_ was how Tony had started NCIS with an impressive black eye and a mild concussion.

Tony briefly wondered if the ring he'd bought for Wendy was still at the bottom of the Potomac, or if some lucky bastard had reeled it in while fishing or something, before returning his thoughts to Wendy. What had happened with her... Hell, the same damn thing had happened at least four or five times to him. But even with that less-than-wonderful track record, Tony simply couldn't see that happening with Jimmy.

Jimmy already knew how much Tony hated being lied to in his daily life.

And even if Tony did come home to find Jimmy in bed with another person, Jimmy was far more likely to invite him to join them than to get at all defensive – Tony could count on one hand the number of times Jimmy had dated just one person in their entire history together, Jimmy tended to prefer dating couples. Tony took a moment to think on that. Could he tolerate sharing? Yes. Not a problem. Jimmy, he knew, would be honest about it – no, more than that. He would be upfront about it.

Tony's brain sidetracked off through bad porn land for several heartbeats before he shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. Um, yeah. No problem 'sharing'. Especially not since Jimmy had excellent taste.

His brain tried to take another run back through pornoville, but Tony refused to let it. _Okay, so the number one reason relationships don't work doesn't apply in this case – it's not infidelity if you've got permission, and it's definitely not infidelity if you invite the other party to join in. Number two reason is money. Will that be a problem?_

Tony knew he was well-off – his team, if they knew about it, would probably one-and-all label him as 'rich', but Tony didn't consider himself rich and wouldn't until he could afford to buy his $200,000 Ferrari and not wince at the price tag. Jimmy came from a blue-collar background, and was the only one from work – _Strike that, Vance knows now, too_ – who knew that he didn't rely on his SFA salary to live. Tony worried the question over in his mind, turning it this way and that, and only came up with a 'maybe' on it. He sat it aside to discuss with Jimmy if he decided to go ahead and start dating him.

_Damnit, this is getting me nowhere. I think I need to sit down and talk with Jimmy._ With one decision made, Tony rejoined the group of bowling nuns and 'rescued' his daughter from them. They convinced him to stick around and chat for a while, during which time Tony wound up explaining just how he had come to be a dad. Eventually, the women released him, and he headed back to his own apartment.

Once inside, he looked around and realized that the place could do with some straightening up. He'd been forced to let his cleaning lady go back when he'd been stationed as Agent Afloat, and hadn't gotten around to replacing her yet. He stuck a DVD copy of Disney's _Fantasia_ in the player and turned it on. While the strains of classical music filled the apartment through the surround-sound speakers, Tony first addressed his daughter's needs. He fed her, burped her, cleaned up the wad-o'slime that occurred most times she let loose a belch, and then pulled out the plastic seatlike thingie he'd purchased for bathing her and the bottle of baby shampoo.

All went well – the baby seemed to truly love the water – until Tony ran a cup of water over her thick, curly hair. The expression on her face at the feel of the somewhat tepid water trickling over her scalp had Tony fighting off a case of the giggles. Working one-handed while he dug his cell out of his pocket, he managed to get the shampoo worked into her hair. Timing it just right rewarded him with a photo of the wide-eyed face she'd worn the first go-round as he gently rinsed the soap off.

Once she was clean, dry, and dressed in the miniscule Ohio-state jersey, he tucked her into the bassinet and spent the next few minutes folding the basket of clean laundry that was still sitting on the end of the sofa. He put her things away in either the diaper bag or in the drawer under his coffee table that had previously contained nothing more than back-issues of _GSM_. The old magazines were tossed in the trashcan in the kitchen. His own small bits of laundry that were machine-washable were put away in his bedroom. While there, he cleaned out his hamper and got his suits ready to send to the dry-cleaner in the morning and stripped the bed, making it up with a clean set of sheets and pillowcases in a rich emerald color that complemented his down-filled comforter's darker checks – the lighter squares in the checkerboard pattern were sky-blue.

He collected the dirty towels and washcloths from the bathroom and bundled them up with the bedding. Next, he scrubbed down the bathroom itself, idly wondering just what sorts of results would come up if he took a swab of the drain in the shower in to Abby before concluding that he probably didn't want to know. With the bathroom sparkling, Tony moved on to wiping down the dust from his bedroom – the green glass shades on the lamps to either side of his bed tended to collect and show the dust rather badly. He also ran one of those disposable mops – that always made Tony think of a giant wet-nap on a stick – over the hardwood floor and decided the two rugs he had that matched his comforter also needed laundered. The cries of the baby had him pausing long enough to feed her again, but she went back to sleep quickly.

By this time the DVD had reached an end, but instead of putting in something else or turning on his stereo, Tony simply re-started _Fantasia_, and started setting the living room to rights. Afterwards, he moved on to the kitchen, and was once again grateful beyond all meaning of the word that he had a dishwasher. Eventually, all that was left was to lug the bundle of sheets and towels and rugs down to the laundry room. A glance at the clock on the microwave showed that it was nearing three o'clock in the morning. Doorman Tom wouldn't be up for another two or three hours.

Tony sighed and looked from the pile of laundry to his daughter and back again. "How do I do this?" he mumbled.

He immediately dismissed the notion of running the laundry down and leaving the girl on her own. Sure, she might not be up and mobile yet, but she eventually would be, and leaving her on her own was a dangerous habit to start. He recalled ten separate times during his tenures at Philly and Baltimore and Peoria where a parent was home alone with a small child – usually one that was younger than three – and the parent had gone off to do something, thinking the kid would be fine for just a minute or two, only to come back and find that the kid had fallen in the swimming pool or gotten into the cleaning supplies under the sink, or something else similarly life-threatening. Tony vowed to himself to never be one of those stories.

Not able to come up with a way to carry both the bulky laundry bundle – in or out of a basket – and his girl – either by herself or in the car seat carrier – Tony gave up and decided to wait until someone was available to watch her to finish his laundry. He kicked back on the sofa and blindly watched the second half of his DVD while his brain tried to come up with an answer to the 'Jimmy Question'.

* * *

**A/N2:** Sarah showing up surprised me – I really wasn't expecting her to drop in, but it seems to work, so I'll go with it. I'd originally intended Abby to be the one to get Tony's thoughts on the train of thought Sarah served up, but whatever. I like Sarah, so I'm not too upset by it. In other news, just in case y'all haven't gotten the memo yet, updates to all my fics are, by necessity, sporadic – meaning, they're dependent on when or if I can grab a free Wi-Fi connection, which is no easy task when I live/work in a vehicle that doesn't allow me to simply park at the local Starbucks. Today's update is brought to you by the free Wi-Fi at a McDonalds in a WalMart in Salt Lake City, UT. Hopefully, the next update won't take so long to upload!

And please don't kill me for where I left off on this chapter. Really, it had to be done. I swear.

In any case, don't forget to remember to let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long to get out, but RL has been kicking me repeatedly in the ass lately.

* * *

**When it Rains**

Tony managed to fall asleep shortly after three, and was still sleeping when Jimmy let himself in at six. Jimmy sat the bag of breakfast burritos from Fat Al's Burrito Shack on the kitchen bar and set to making coffee. The coffee was almost ready when Tony's nose twitched and he slowly peeled one eye open. "Jimmy?"

"Yeah?" The younger man couldn't help but wonder what Tony's decision was. He really hoped that Tony was willing to give them a shot, but feared that he wouldn't be willing to risk their friendship.

"Oh," Tony replied, then reclosed his eye and burrowed a little deeper into the sofa.

"I brought breakfast," Jimmy said, pouring coffee into Tony's favorite mug. He quickly added the sugar and hazelnut creamer Tony preferred and carried the mug into the living room. He looked around and noticed that Tony'd cleaned up some, though there was a bundle of towels and sheets in the basket next to the archway to the hall that lead to the bathroom and bedroom. Jimmy leaned down and held the mug of coffee close to Tony's barely-seen face amid the couch cushions.

Tony's nose twitched again and both eyes slowly opened. Sleep-bleary green eyes met Jimmy's own and a slow smile surfaced on Tony's face, making his eyes crinkle up at the corners. "Hey," he said. Stretching more slowly than his smile, Tony reached for the coffee mug, letting his hand rest over Jimmy's for a long moment.

Jimmy hoped this was a good sign and not some sort of sleep-induced insanity. "Hey," Jimmy replied. "You awake yet?"

"Nope," Tony replied, fully taking hold of the coffee mug, "but I will be soon. Think we need to talk."

Jimmy's heartbeat increased at that and disappointed panic began to set in. "Oh," he said, returning to the bar and grabbing the bag of sausage and egg burritos.

Tony sipped at his coffee and climbed to his feet. "Hey," he said, settling himself on one of the barstools. "Lemme wake up some. It's not bad… At least, I don't think so. Just need to clarify something."

"What?" Jimmy asked, his heart in his throat.

"Food first," Tony said, reaching for one of the foil-wrapped packets of cholesterol.

Tony all but inhaled his breakfast, but Jimmy could only nibble – his nerves were getting the better of him. In what seemed to be both seconds and hours, Tony eventually crumpled the foil up and tossed in the trashcan beside the fridge and swallowed down the last of the coffee in his mug. He got to his feet and strolled into the kitchen to fix another cup. "You want any?"

Jimmy could only shake his head.

Tony shrugged and returned to his bar stool with a full mug. "So," he said, seemingly having a hard time looking up from his coffee. "I've been thinking about what you said."

"And what…" Jimmy tried to swallow, only to find he didn't have enough spit in his mouth to even moisten his lips. "What did you decide?"

Tony, still staring at his coffee, sighed. "I… Shit, Jimmy…" He finally looked up at Jimmy. Tony tried a different track and started over. "I actually asked McGee and Abby if it was worth it, breaking rule twelve. Before McGee started laughing at me, he agreed with Abs that it depended on the people. I've chewed this over every way I know how, and… Well, I do have a couple of questions for you before I make a decision."

"And what would those be?"

"First off, I know you said you wanted 'serious' – to be honest, I'm not too sure I can do 'serious'. I don't –"

Jimmy held up a hand, "No, Tony – I think you misunderstood. I know you, probably as well as you know me. I know neither of us is really wired for monogamy, but I figure as long as we both agree, it could be fun to go clubbing together." An odd little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You'd be surprised how many girls out there jump at the chance for a night with two men, even if all she does is _watch_."

Tony nearly choked on his coffee. _So much for staying out of X-rated territory._

Jimmy patted him on the back. When the coughing was brought under control, Jimmy finally returned Tony's smile from earlier. "Have you ever read any Robert Heinlein?" Tony shook his head. "Well, most of his stuff, even though it's classic sci-fi, could also technically be labeled as romance, too. Especially the stories that center on Lazarus Long." Jimmy made a shooing motion with his hands as though brushing aside stray thoughts. "In any case, if you _had_, then I could get away with describing my childhood as being a lot like growing up in the Long household on Tellus Tertius, only on a slightly smaller scale. Since you _haven't_, then I guess you need a little more detail. Mom and Dad had what the rest of our neighborhood viewed as a sister living with us, when in reality, it was Mom, Dad, and Mama Jane. When Dad died, though, Mama Jane couldn't handle living with us any more and set out on her own."

Tony wrinkled his forehead, trying to wrap his mind around what Jimmy was telling him. "So, you're telling me… What? Your dad had two 'wives'?"

Jimmy shook his head, "Not exactly. He _and Mom_ had a live-in girlfriend. There is a difference, you know."

"Is your whole family that way? No wonder you've got so many cousins."

Jimmy laughed and shook his head again. "No, as far as I know, none of the rest of the family knows about Mama Jane." He took off his glasses and polished the lenses on the handkerchief he had in his pocket. Today, he was wearing a charcoal-colored suit with a blue button-down and a tie in alternating stripes of a grey the same shade as his jacket and a blue two shades darker than the shirt. By the wardrobe choices alone, Tony knew that Jimmy had class at nine, and wouldn't be expected at work until three that afternoon. Replacing the glasses on his face and the handkerchief in his pocket, Jimmy continued to speak. "Look, I'm probably not doing a real great job at explaining, but when I said 'serious' I meant that, regardless of who else we might bring in from time to time, we still stay together. That, if either of us want an evening off with someone else, we still wind up with each other."

"Basically, you're saying that we'd be together, but still allowed to date other people – either collectively or on our own?"

Jimmy nodded. "Exactly." He smiled brightly, "But if you do wind up out on a hot date with a barely-legal coed, I expect details!"

That managed to wrest a laugh from Tony. "Ditto on the details, Jimmy." Tony's smile evaporated suddenly. "What about money?" he asked.

Jimmy shrugged, "What about it?"

"I mean, I'm not exactly filthy rich, but we're not precisely even on that score either."

"So what? Fortunes come and go, it's the people who stick around – or should, if they honestly knew what was truly valuable in life." Seeing Tony's skeptical expression, Jimmy could tell that Tony couldn't see what he was getting at. "Hey, look at it this way – I'll be a real doctor here in another year, two at the most, then I'll start catching up. Don't worry about money."

Tony chuckled, "You really are _not_ normal, are you?"

"Would you have me any other way?" Jimmy asked, an impish little smile perched lightly on his mouth.

"I don't think so," Tony replied and seized Jimmy by the shoulders. The younger man still had lurking fears floating behind his eyes, but Tony quickly set to erasing the doubts by returning, with interest, the kiss which Jimmy had used to capture his attention so easily the night before. Incrementally, realization began to dawn in Jimmy's mind that Tony really was taking him up on his offer. Tension eased out of his back, his hands came up to wrap around Tony's chest, and he began to kiss back.

Tony's hands moved from his shoulders, the right creeping up to cup the back of Jimmy's neck, and the other inched around to tangle itself in Jimmy's tie. As the kiss went on and on and on, the hand wrapped in the tie managed to undo the knot holding it closed before moving on to worry open the buttons on Jimmy's pale blue shirt. Jimmy's hands weren't still, they slid under Tony's t-shirt, fingertips tracing feather-light patterns on the smooth skin at the small of Tony's back.

The last button on Jimmy's shirt slipped through its hole and the light fingertip tracings had to pause for a moment. Jimmy grabbed the lower hem of Tony's t-shirt and pulled it up over Tony's head, even while the other man tried to nudge Jimmy's button-down off his shoulders. Once the tee had been discarded, Jimmy obliged and the shirt, tie, and jacket wound up in a tangled puddle on the floor.

When the kiss resumed after its momentary interruption, there was an additional thrill of skin-to-skin contact. The hair dusting Tony's chest tickled across Jimmy's well-defined muscles, making the younger man laugh.

"Ooh, you're ticklish, aren't you?" Tony whispered in Jimmy's ear, his breath hot and moist and seemingly seeking out every pleasure-receptor situated on or near the cartilage shell.

Jimmy let out a breathless echo of his own laughter and nodded helplessly. "Yeah," he said.

A mischievous glint entered Tony's eyes and a small, evil smirk flashed across his face. "I'll make sure I remember that," he replied, "but that's for later." He kissed Jimmy again, intent on performing his very own version of a cavity-check as his tongue memorized every ridge and valley in the topography of Jimmy's mouth. Slowly, slowly, ever-oh-so-slowly, the kiss wound to a close, and Tony moved on, his mouth latching on to the sensitive spot of skin on Jimmy's neck, just under where his ear sat. A rash of goosebumps broke out on Jimmy's skin and a loud moan escaped his throat. Tony redoubled his efforts. On Jimmy's end, it felt like every nerve in that part of his body was wired directly to his dick.

Unaware that his hands had slipped under Tony's waistband, Jimmy simply tilted his head to the side, providing ample space for Tony's multi-talented mouth to wrest moans and whimpers out of his own. When Tony seemingly grew bored with that small spot of skin, he maneuvered around to provide the same slow torture to the same spot of skin on the opposite side of Jimmy's neck. When his hand came up to tease a nipple, Jimmy simply couldn't hold still any longer and – as his own hands were so nicely placed on the globes of Tony's ass – he simultaneously let out an animalistic growling noise, thrust his own hips forwards, and pulled Tony's hips towards his own.

Jimmy's move caused sparks of pure lustful pleasure to zing up and down Tony's body. He groaned, letting go of Jimmy's neck. "Bedroom," he managed to choke out. If they didn't get horizontal soon, the lack of blood flow to his brain was likely going to kill them both.

Jimmy didn't need to be told twice, as he supported the idea wholeheartedly. Jimmy's pants sprawled out from the edge of the sofa to the hallway that lead to the bedroom. Tony's jeans wound up inside-out and in a similar position just outside the bedroom door. Though neither man could recall how it happened, Jimmy's boxers wound up hanging off of the door knob.

Sprawled on Tony's queen-sized bed, one leg stretched flat on the mattress, the other bent upwards and slightly outwards invitingly, with his cock arching up to his navel and pupils blown wide, Jimmy watched as Tony ducked into the bathroom. His unspoken question was answered when Tony reappeared with a box of Trojans. The condoms were tossed aside for the moment, discarded temporarily in favor of a full-body embrace, punctuated with kisses.

A thin glaze of sweat coated both men and the scent of sex began to fill the air, and just as Tony was reaching for the box of condoms, a shrill cry sounded throughout the apartment.

"Damnit," Tony groaned.

"Agreed," Jimmy replied.

Tony crawled off the bed and quickly slid into his lighthouse-themed pajama bottoms. He laid a sweet, chaste kiss on Jimmy's lips. "Hold that thought," he said, then hurried back to the living room to see what his daughter needed.

After waiting for several minutes, the passion of the moment faded, and Jimmy helped himself to a pair of Tony's sweats and joined him in the living room. Tony was feeding the baby and reciting the plotline to – if Palmer recalled his Disney correctly – _Sleeping Beauty_. Even though his camera phone wasn't handy, Jimmy knew the moment would be branded into his log of 'happy Tony memories' for the rest of his life.

"You finally find a name for her?" he asked, slipping up behind Tony and wrapping his arms around the older man's waist, just under the baby.

Tony paused in describing the allure of the cursed spinning wheel and smiled, "Yeah, I think I did." His mind flashed back to his conversation the night before with Sarah.

Jimmy lightly kissed the spot where Tony's neck merged with his shoulder, still somewhat unbelieving that he could do so without risking… well, _everything_. "Well? What is it going to be?"

"Isabel Jarah DiNozzo," Tony pronounced her first name with the European inflection making the 'I' sound into a long 'E', the 'S' softly sibilant.

"It's pretty," Jimmy replied. "It suits her."

"I think so, too."

Isabel's demands for attention swallowed up the remainder of Jimmy's free time that morning, though the apprentice-ME couldn't find it in himself to be upset. After he finished getting himself back in his suit, he kissed Tony farewell, and headed to his ethics class. On the somewhat-frustrating drive through morning traffic, Jimmy's brain started hatching plans to get some quality alone-time with Tony. _I wonder if Abby would be willing to baby-sit for us?_

* * *

Tim hid his face behind his copy of _The Washington Post_ as he, yet again, had to laugh at the memory of Tony's unscheduled visit. The café was busy enough that no one took notice, or so he thought until Ziva's voice asked, "What is so amusing?"

Tim, still grinning, closed the paper and sat it aside. "Oh, not much. Just that Tony dropped by last night." He took a sip of his coffee and explained, in what Tony would have dubbed 'excruciating detail' had he been present, just what had him laughing. By the time he finished, the two of them were garnering no few odd looks from the other patrons as they cackled wildly.

Eventually, they managed to calm themselves, and a waitress came by to take Ziva's order and refill Tim's mug. "Speaking of Tony," Ziva said, a smile still lingering on her face, what do you plan to get him?"

Tim shrugged, "Dunno. Hadn't decided yet. Probably a gift card. You?"

Ziva shook her head. "Not a gift card. He might be annoying, but I think he deserves something with a bit more thought than just a gift card."

Tim rolled his eyes. "So what _are_ you getting?"

"A walker," Ziva smugly replied.

McGee blinked in confusion for several heartbeats until it dawned on him what Ziva had meant. "A stroller, you mean?"

Ziva's smile faded and her eyebrows inched together on her forehead. "Is not strolling and walking the same thing?"

"Not in this case – a walker is that metal frame that the elderly use to help them walk. A stroller is the kid-carrier with wheels."

"Ah. Yes, that is it. Abby said she was going to find something 'funny', but would not say what, exactly. I spoke with Ducky this morning and he is putting together a first-aid kit with things like a baby-thermometer, children's aspirin and such. Any idea what Gibbs will be giving Tony?"

Tim shrugged. "No clue, but I bet it's something that added to the collection of sawdust he keeps in the basement."

Ziva nodded in agreement. "Of course – he would not be Gibbs if it was something he simply bought."

The arrival of Ziva's breakfast order interrupted the conversation.

* * *

Despite only having snagged a couple hours of sleep that morning, Tony was in no way tired. He got Tom to keep an eye on Isabel for him and finished up his laundry. While waiting for the washer to finish cycling, he contacted Dr. Blair to let the man know what names to fill in on the baby's birth certificate. Mere heartbeats after finishing that call, his cell rang. It was Liza, who hadn't much appreciated Tony's pre-emptive visit with Tinka Michaels the day before, but who still understood why Tony had done it. She was calling to let him know that the paperwork for Ms. Michaels was ready for signatures. Tony let her know he'd be by her office to pick it up on Monday.

After transferring the bedding and towels from the washing machine to the dryer, Tony checked the time on his cell – it was nearing noon, and his contractor was supposed to drop by to discuss the changes he had in mind at two. Satisfied that he had plenty of time, Tony tucked the cell back into his pocket. He was completely unaware that he'd been grinning like a lunatic all morning, even though he was fully aware that his thoughts kept on drifting Jimmy-wards.

The meeting with the contractor went well, and both men were pretty sure that everything other than the assorted repairs Tony had yet to list from the tenants would be able to be completed both under Tony's projected budget for the project and within a month. The only real downside was that after the first project was completed – replacing the elevator – Tony would need to find a temporary place to stay until the fifth floor was done. Had any of the other units been empty, it wouldn't have been an issue, but aside from 5C, all the other apartments were filled.

Tony's immediate thought was to crash at Jimmy's place, but he vetoed that idea even as it surfaced; Jimmy's apartment was roughly the same size as a postage stamp, and even an extra duffle bag would probably cause its walls to split at the seams. He next considered Gibbs, but… Well, he really didn't want to impose. Sure, his boss had put him up a time or two in the past, but that had been when he could crash on the sofa and live out of a suitcase for a couple of days – this was going to be significantly more invasive than that, simply because of Isabel, and that was to say nothing of the fact that it would likely be for a full two to three weeks, maybe even longer if something unforeseen came up.

Tony sighed, and could literally hear his boss growling in his ear, "Quit being a dumbass, DiNozzo." To complete the rather surreal experience, Tony went ahead and headslapped himself. _Fine, I'll ask. Probably won't say yes, but it never hurts to ask, right?_

* * *

Across town, Gibbs was clamping the last piece into place on the second of his five self-appointed projects for his SFA's latest addition to his life, unaware that Tony's thoughts were mimicking him with such unerring accuracy. He made sure the clamp was secure and not marring the wood on which it rested before heading up to his kitchen for lunch. The glue would take about twelve hours to cure, then a final sanding and a couple of coats of varnish would have it ready. Mrs. Johnson from down the block had promised her addition to his gift would be ready that evening.

Gibbs wolfed down his sandwich, then headed for his pickup. There was one part of his gift that needed to be purchased. _No time like the present._

* * *

After his class was over with for yet another week, Jimmy all but bounced to work. He strolled into Autopsy whistling _Ode to Joy_ through his teeth. Ducky looked up from where he was checking his email on the computer in the corner and smiled at his assistant. "Am I to assume that all went well?"

Palmer blushed lightly and nodded, "Yeah, it did. Don't know why, but apparently Tony's nuts enough to give me a try."

Ducky chuckled. "Though the status of Anthony's sanity is always something of a mystery, I've no doubt that the pair of you shall do far more than simply 'try', my lad."

Jimmy's blush turned rather more crimson than pink, but his grin was bright enough that Ducky had to wonder, _If I stepped slightly to the left, would I see daylight through his dimples?_ Out loud, however, Ducky merely said, "And speaking of Anthony, has Abby told you about the baby shower she's roped us all into tomorrow?"

Slowly, the blush was beginning to fade. Jimmy shook his head, "No, I hadn't heard. But I did miss a call from her while I was in class, but my battery had died before I got the chance to check it. I just figured that whatever it was could wait until I got here."

"Well, I'm sure she'll appreciate a visit. On your way back, would you be so kind as to drop next month's requisitions off?"

Palmer nodded and took the sheaf of paperwork with him.

The distinctive sound of heavy bass thudded from the lab as he exited the elevator. Abby was reviewing some documents from a cold-case on her computer, the images she was looking at were duplicated on the plasma hanging on the wall. "Hey, Abby. What's this about a baby shower?"

Abby glanced over her shoulder and smiled brightly before rushing over to hug Palmer – something which Jimmy could count the occurrences of on one hand and still have fingers left over. Jimmy simply stood there in shock for several long minutes before tentatively patting her back. "Abby?"

"Yes?"

"Could you let go of me? You're kinda freaking me out here."

Reluctantly, Abby pried herself off of him. "Sorry, didn't mean to. But you're, like, happier than I've ever seen you before and me and Timmy and Ziva have been chatting and since Tony came by last night while I was out bowling I know he's gonna break rule twelve for you and –"

"Abby!"

She halted mid-babble. "What?"

The look of total confusion on her face had Jimmy chuckling. "What's this about a baby shower?"

She brightened again. "Oh! Well, Ziva's going to bring a cake and bought a stroller. I found this really cool baby vampire collection – a black-and-red blanket, a little sleeper-outfit in black that says 'bloodsucker in training' on it, and a pacifier that looks like a mouth with fangs – and I'll bring the drinks. Ducky's putting together a bunch of first-aid stuff and said he'd get a party-sub from Alessander's Deli. Tim's having a little trouble deciding on something for the ankle-biter, but said he'd bring some chips and dip. It's at Tony's place, tomorrow evening, six o'clock."

"I guess I'll bring the fruit-and-veggie trays, then," Jimmy replied. "But I'm in the same boat as McGee in not knowing what to get for Isabel."

A nearly super-sonic high-pitched noise emerged from Abby's throat, and Palmer quickly found himself smothered in another hug. "Isabel's the baby's name?"

"Isabel Jarah DiNozzo," Palmer confirmed, and deciding that he simply didn't want to be uncomfortable any more, enthusiastically returned Abby's hug. "I found out this morning."

Abby released him, hooked her left arm around his right, and pulled him into her office. "Come, Jimmy – I need details."

Jimmy grinned and couldn't help but think that this thing with Tony – wherever it may lead – was going to be fun in ways he hadn't even considered before.

* * *

**A/N2:** I had the near-miss sex scene in my head when this plot bunny first introduced itself to me – it's satisfying to see its place finally come up in the tale. I hope everyone likes it as much as I do! In any case, I find myself in need of a little guidance. There are two ways for me to handle this story from here: Option One – I continue on for many more chapters, starting up a story-line that will take a while to wrap. Option Two – I leave this at the conclusion I'd originally intended (another 1-3 chapters) and explore the new plot in a sequel at some later date. I'm equally open to both options and can't really make up my mind at this time, so please lemme know what y'all would prefer to see. Thanks in advance!

Reviews are always appreciated.


	11. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** And so we come to the end of this story, as I've decided that the plot-bunny attack I suffered deserves to be its own story and not just an add-on to this one. Keep a weather eye out for it in the future (but I've no clue how long it might take – I've got a string of stories that are yammering for my attention right now).

* * *

**When it Rains**

_December 19, 2009_

The last of the visitors had finally gone home. Isabel was sleeping peacefully in her room, in the crib that Gibbs had made for her (along with a changing table, a rocking chair, and a large dresser). Tony sighed happily as he looked around his newly-remodeled home. The floors were still polished hardwood, with scattered rugs here and there, but it was far larger than it had been previously.

Larger, yes, but…_ fuller_, if that made sense.

He shook off the thought and moved to give Jimmy a hand in cleaning up their – _their!_ – dining room. The table had been Ducky's housewarming gift. Eunice, Jimmy's mom, had provided the antique china cabinet along the wall to the kitchen, and Jimmy's collection of Ansel Adams reprints were framed and hung serenely on the other three walls, interspersed with wall sconces that sported stained-glass shades.

With the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, the last of the leftovers secured in the refrigerator, Tony and Jimmy retired to the living room, letting the soft sounds of Coltrane wash over them. "I hope they don't expect us to host Christmas, too," Jimmy mumbled, leaning into Tony.

"Nah," Tony replied. "Ducky said we'd have Christmas at his place this year, provided a case doesn't interfere."

"That's," Jimmy yawned, "good. Don't think I have it in me to do another one of these so soon anyway."

"I agree. Abby said she'd be by tomorrow evening, though. Gonna take the munchkin off our hands for a while."

"Mmm-hmm," Jimmy was barely awake. "Wanna go see a new release? Or head over to The Classic?"

Tony shrugged, "Ask me again tomorrow."

"Mmm-hmm," Jimmy replied.

While Jimmy fell asleep in Tony's arms, Tony couldn't help but marvel at his change in circumstances. Just one short month ago, he'd been single, filling far too many lonely hours with work or movies. Now, though… Now he had a beautiful little girl to dote on, a penthouse that, though not as lavish as some he'd see, was certainly nothing to sneeze at, friends who would gladly die for him, and someone to come home to who truly understood him.

He was pretty sure things couldn't get better.

_Finite Incantatem_

* * *

**A/N2:** Like I said in the A/N above, the idea I had is going to be a sequel to this tale, but I have no idea when I'll get to posting it. Hopefully, my other WIPs can be finished off soon, but I have another Tony-centric story in mind for NCIS that's currently getting the majority of my attention (it has absolutely nothing to do with this 'verse). Thanks for everyone's comments and I hope to hear from y'all again in my other stories!


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